Home? Home!

They say you can't go home again.  I don't know who they are, and I don't know why they say that.

I'm home.  I'm in the house I grew up in actually. It was a matter of coincidence and happenstance that lead me to be the sole inhabitant (aside from my pooch Skeeter).  I moved back from Asia and my mom left for California.  Since the "ole homestead" is convenient for work I decided to stay there rather than moving to Seattle. It works out for mom because I'm paying the mortgage and this isn't exactly the best time to sell.

I've spent the better part of the last week going through the house. See, mom and I have slightly divergent opinions about stuff.  I like to have less stuff and keep it super duper organized.  Mom has. . .her own kind of organization system. On those grounds, I have a charity truck coming on Thursday to pick up ten bags of donations. 

The house is beyond orderly; it's nearly exactly as I want it.  Well, almost.  It's 92.4% there (minus the stuff in the garage pending pick up).