Goodwill to St. Vincent's

Every piece of furniture I bought and used these two years is, as of Friday morning, available for sale at your local St. Vincent de Paul outlet. With the exception of my desk, which, with its inkwell space and leather blotter, I am truly loathe to give up. It's going to be U-Hauled to Las Vegas with Jeremy and Liz. I like to know that the pieces of furniture I've loved will continue to be loved by someone somewhere, preferably by someone I know.

Speaking of lovable furniture, whatever came of the brown sofa, Dave? Do you still have it? No worries if you don't.

I'm glad it's gorgeous outside again. The last week or so has been marked if not marred with an atmospheric indecisiveness I thought defined only Jupiter, but no, it defines Eugene as well. Gusty sunshine followed by rainbursts followed by sunshine seems to foster in me an urge to go running, then guilt when I don't go running. I prefer my days to have one kind of weather only. Today is one of those days. I enjoy the lit tint of willow green at my window, especially as contrasted with the bluescreen blue behind it.

I have blogging aspirations. There's no time like the pre-cross-country-odyssey time for reflection and digital journaling. If I don't get back to the laptop before Monday, picture me somewhere in the Rockies with the Man in Black on the radio, singing about the Rock Island Line, it's a mighty good road, Rock Island Line, it's a road to ride.