Yesterday afternoon, after hours of packing books into boxes (books! Jay-sus! who needs so many freaking books?!) and bubble wrapping the dogs (just kidding, we didn't bubble wrap the dogs), we went up to the 82.

I got to walk through the staked-out house site with me asking, "am I in the kitchen? am I in the hallway?" and T's standard response "you're in the basement" because, of course, the house's first floor will be above my head. He amuses himself that way.

Here is where I want a swing. Right between these two trees. But T has picked out a different spot on the other side--- we'll see who wins the battle of the swing.

This is me lying in the grass looking out. After I took this photo I dropped the camera and fell into a thousand year sleep.

I tried to get Henry to come closer to the camera and give us a gander at those ears, but he was too busy hunting for something new to put into his ginormous mouth. Have I failed to provide photos of this dog's pelican mug? I will get some to you soon. It's crazy really. He can put Ollie's whole head in his mouth, and does.

But today? I give you the view from the 82.

My friend Ally HATES that we call it the 82. She says in her Manchester, England accent, "it sounds like a bloody highway. You must give it a proper name." So this morning I woke up and went straight into T's office where he was already drinking coffee and working on the house plans and said, "Golden Field Farm!" He took a sip of his coffee, eyed me coolly and continued working. "Fields-of-Gold Farm!" I said with enthusiasm. He didn't even look up. "Laughing Dog Farm?" My confidence was petering out.

"Honey, it's not happening," he said.

And so the never-ending saga of naming our new home continues. Feel free to e-mail me your suggestions but understand anything that sounds like a mental hospital (Bellevue), nursing home (Golden View), campground (Sunnyview), or suburban development (Oak View) will not be considered.

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