Life doesn't necessarily occur in sequence

New digs for Emily, Laura and me.

We're moving one road north, to a trailer community, not too euphemistically called Hudson Estates.

Laura remains in the Hudson school district; I remain the township fiscal officer.

"We've signed the lease," as Laura tells the world.

Our "Estate" passes muster for one granddaughter away in college and another who scored the master with the walk in closet. She cannot wait to furnish and cook in "her kitchen" either.

We have the keys, and have been in and out a few times. The interior needs a final clean, the accessory building is not yet on site, and the drive way has the frame laid, and probably will be poured next week.

Meanwhile, back in my other world, we had a long anticipated visit from Yamani.

She landed in the midst of the first week of the house on the market, and proved a very adaptable guest. Yam can sit out a house showing in the national park, soothing an irritated cat while learning more strategy for hearts, the card game. We shopped in Indian markets, and Laura added more culinary skills to her repertoire.

To her great delight, Yam arrived in the midst of the seventeen year cicada invasion, as they emerged mercilessly, cut the oak tree's bark to lay eggs, then flew off everywhere to die. We swept the walk and drive often, to lessen the impact on potential house buyers. 

Cicadas are more than the incessant, deafening screech of a million rasping wings. They damage mature trees and kill young trees. All those brown tips on the oak tree in June indicate severe damage to its capillary systems.

In better news, the pink and white mandevillas are doing beautifully.

The red mandevilla went on strike for a better spot, so it's been relocated to the porch for a go at reclamation.

Now I am going out to buy a statue of St. Joseph to bury in the front yard--upside down.