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I’m  sitting here contemplating the weirdness of things around me:  the sound of packing tape being rippppped from it’s peaceful round spool, against the background of Don Mclean singing Bye-Bye, Miss American Pie in one room,  and something I can’t name  but that has a sonic boom sort of rhythm line in another room.  This is all punctuated with voices and laughter of the four fellows busily wrapping and stuffing my life into large boxes.  Every time I walk through any area where they’re working I hear someone muttering something about “there sure is a lot of stuff…”

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The harmony of all this is suddenly interrupted by the very near — and raucous — sound of Ella and his wives (Dolly and Blossom, dearie) exclaiming and chortling with delight.   It is common, as in two or three times a day, for the three of them to form a boarding party to advance into the courtyard.   They are usually demanding food, or  strip-mining my potted plants.  Today is different.  They discover that all the doors that open onto the courtyard are wide open!  I don’t know what chicken is for “YeeHaw!” but I reckon that’s what the delighted exclamations and chortles meant.

It isn’t often that anyone accuses me of moving quickly, but I’m here to tell you that I flew down the steps from the study to the front door in a nanosecond.  The chooks were intercepted, and easily diverted by a handful of cheese. This time.   But this packing and loading-stuff-into-big-trucks caper is going to continue all day today (Friday) and again on Monday and Tuesday.  While it is going on all doors are wide open, as is the gate to the courtyard.  I’ve had sons  and grandsons, not to mention husbands, and I know the futility of trying to get these blokes to shut doors or gates.  My best bet is to instruct the chickens.

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The fellows wanted to pack the kitchen first, before moving onto other rooms.  Given that I will be here over the weekend, it seemed a tad inconvenient to lose my kitchen first, so I’ve promised them they can start on it first thing Monday morning.  Meanwhile I’ll have the weekend to contemplate–and prepare–for what I need to keep behind to survive for a month at my son’s place in Wilmot.  AKA Ground Zero.  I get to sleep in the caravan.  It might be a good time for a bit of travel, come to think of it.

The good news is, on Monday I won’t have to listen to the Rippppppping all day long.  I’ll be at the dentist having a root canal.  Plus three other crowns.

Oops!  I hear Ella chortling again.  I’ll catch ya later…

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BTW: does anyone know how to remove chicken poop from carpets–just in case?…       MM

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