I moved. Again.

Three blocks up, two blocks over to a truly great space on Hone Street.

And in many ways, this move was more dramatic than my move cross country.

I’m still in the neighborhood I love, the Rondout, but I no longer have to suffer through the noisy DJ parties that Mariners and Ship To Shore would have on Friday or Saturday nights to all hours of the morning. No more am I awoken by rumbling trucks on the way to the salvage yard or by the uber obnoxious Harleys with straight pipes. No, now I live above an architect’s office in an 1800’s brick building surrounding by churches that chime sweetly on the hour. But not ALL hours!

And I signed a year lease this time. Made a commitment to stay. And the same week I moved into my new and amazing place, my husband made the first payment to buy me out of our house in Sebastopol. The timing was uncanny. Symbolic. And at times, hard to handle.

As I took a walk this morning, my first in a long while because the weather has been snowy and slick, I realized, I live here now. I really am here, if not for good then for a good long while. I visited my favorite cemetery, now covered in snow, and I took the photo you see here on this post. “This Way Out.” Great sign to post in a cemetery, don’t you think?

When I got back to my new space, the New York Times (the weekend edition) was waiting for me. My first at-home delivery. I curled up on the couch in the stream of the sun coming through the tall living room windows, drank coffee and read about Corrine Baily Rae and all the new movies coming out. Maxie cat joined me in the sun while Mark connected cables to his console in the studio.

My new home.