Two very long days later, and this was the view from my bed this morning:
It is such a relief to have a lot of the unpacking done (it's not finished, but we're getting there). I am, however, left with a few burning questions:
Where did all that yarn come from?
Where did all that wool come from?
Where did all those books come from?
And a few observations:
I'm not sure that I've quite achieved a STABLE (Stash Acquisition Beyond Life Expectancy) amount of yarn, but I think I may have gotten there with the spinning fiber (four pounds of Stansborough Grey, and at least one more fleece's worth of wool, not to mention various braids).
My bookshelves are definitely, as one friend once described hers, part resume, part wishlist. I have a lot of unread books. But I also have some that I'm wanting to reread at this point. (Am I the only one who does that? And I'm not talking about rereading deep and meaningful prize-winning books here, guys - just comforting ones whose characters are fun to visit.)
And now I am tired. My joints hurt, and I'm glad I'm not unpacking anything tonight. Good night!