Alison and I moved two sofas today; Robert watched . . . because he has that broken, shattered, fused “surgified” leg. We even had to move him twice, by the way. One sofa was ditched – the one in the den; another was moved from living room to den. We had to move a lot of clutter to accomplish the job. I am definitely considering becoming a minimalist . . . Although whenever I walk into a house as neat as a model home, I think, “Where are your things!?”

I don’t know what those people think when they come into my home and see all my clutter and special things lying around – oh, like a part of a brick from the high school my grandmother graduated from in 1900, a Christmas moose I didn’t have the heart to put away, old greenish-blue glass insulators from another time, a straw hat hanging form the lock on a window.

I once was on the beach in San Diego and heard a middle-aged couple not far away talking about her mother’s home. The man said he had already targeted a bookcase that needed to be organized. Gosh, he’d be busy here.