I've been thinking about resubscribing to The New Yorker when I get moved to Ames. I don't know what's brought this about--as if I need any more things to read in my life. And half the time only about a third of the magazine is of any interest. But it never fails, I pick up a copy at Claire's office and start reading some article that I can't possibly hope to finish in the five minutes I have before I have my appointment and there I am, hooked again. Does it matter that there'll be a lot more room in the new house for stuff like old New Yorker magazines to collect? Can I really handle another weekly magazine? (OK, the only other weekly magazine I take is Entertainment Weekly and that's not exactly high literature or anything. It's fun and a great read--but it's not exactly the most challenging thing in the world.) But then I think I'll only be living a scant 6-7 blocks from the Ames Public Library so I could always just run down there, right? Who knows--beings as I'll have my own room in the house for all the stuff that is mine I might just have to resubscribe.

Wendy came down tonight and she watched Anna for a little while as Heidi and I boxed up even more of our life in anticipation of our big move. It's a bit sad to see everything going into boxes, but in a way, it's kind of fun. At least we're moving forward. I still think that it's gonna need something the size of the Titanic to move our stuff, but fortunately for me, Heidi's a master packer having moved so many times in the past. After the boxing of stuff and moving of large stuff to the garage in preparation for either (a) being given the the local Y day-care or (b) going out on large garbage day, we went to the Pizza Ranch and then came back and watched reruns of "The Golden Girls" that we'd taped back before we moved to Washington. It's definitely not okay to admit that I'm a 31 year old man that giggles like an idiot while watching that show, but aren't blogs for raw emotion and writing whatever the hell? So there it is.