Just as the weather cools and it is getting time to hunker down, I find myself imagining closing up the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse and totally changing my life. An apartment in a city, a minimum of things. In my mind’s eye I can see the place here standing closed up while debris carried by the wind gathers around the house and then snow remains unmarked around the doors. I’d be gone, just like that. Cold and wind and no smell of woodsmoke.

So here’s the deal: I’ll get this place in shape, all warm and cozy and neat and inviting and then, maybe I will leave. But first, there is this culling through of stuff, this fixing and sense of order. Once free to leave, I may stay.