There’s this weird thing that happens in the afternoon here where if anyone is walking by on the far-distant sidewalk, their shadows play across the living room wall HUGE, like they’re walking right next to the window. Every time it happens I whirl around and somehow by that time the person on the sidewalk has already passed out of my sight line. The result is that after four or five people have passed I get really paranoid that the house is being attacked by ninjas.

Our car, El Toro, is on his last legs, I fear. He’s started turning his automatic transmission fluid into a yellowish-brown condensation that somehow leaks out and gets all over his rear end. It’s foul. If he were a pet doing this all the time we would probably have to put him to sleep, but we don’t seem to be making that call here. (On the other hand, if the pet carried all our groceries home and took us on road trips, we would probably keep that pet a bit longer too.)

I don’t understand what we did to deserve this from you, Toro. Was it because we drove you on those dreadful gravel lanes for like two hours trying to find that campground in Central Oregon? Was it because I drove you to Ashland and back this weekend and you, like a champ, only broke down one time? Or is it because you are a fourteen year old American car that I drive as though you were a three year old Japanese car?

Whatever the reason, our Toro is not long for this world. We’ll take a moment to mourn — it seems like only five months ago that Gene was proudly showing Sean our state-of-the-art cup holders — and then we’ll move on.

Where does one get a nice used car these days? Is it possible to get one on Craigslist in exchange for a massage and a basket of organic homegrown figs? (We have a treeload of figs, FYI, if you like that sort of thing, or if you have a car you’d like to trade for. An AUTOMATIC car, Jacob.) Is there some sort of SPCA where I can go to adopt a nice mixed-breed car, maybe something mostly Japanese but with American command seating? Advice and cars for sale are welcome.

Gene’s in the ceiling! He’s putting down cable (or maybe just measuring) so we can have internet all over the house. It’s hard work; I want to be a good wife and do something for him in return. But what? Currently, my ideas are:

1. Pretend I am a villain in an eighties movie and he is the hero who is hiding from me. Shoot shotgun holes in ceiling, stopping just short of hitting his groin. Note: requires shotgun.

2. Have a long conversation about our feelings, shouting through the trap door. If he refuses to participate, have a long conversation about why he doesn’t love me anymore. Note: requires feelings.

3. Gremlins! Note: requires food, so I better quite blogging and go buy some groceries.

Saturday we moved into this rambling old Alameda house, thanks to our astonishingly awesome friends who not only spent all day moving our hundreds of boxes and big heavy furniture items, but they then hung around to move boxes upstairs and set up rooms. Wow.

So far I kind of love it here. We’ve already met one of our neighbors, a little old lady with a cane and a sweet smile, “right out of Central Casting,” as Kevin said. I’ve already been to a butcher, a produce stand, a creamery and the library. And yesterday I swam in our pool, which for a wonder was not cold enough to make me want to die, though it was cold enough to make me want to get right out.

Some highlights, for me, of the move:

Robert: “You have multiple D&D boxes?”

Gene, after John patiently talked to the little old lady neighbor for like 20 minutes: “Did you get her number?”

Receiving suggestions for remodeling from various movers which included replacing the ugly kitchen linoleum with a Saturday Night Fever floor (-Robert) and putting in a giant Lite Brite wall in the living room (-Tami).

Opening boxes with Ivan as we searched for drinking glasses for people and coming across one labeled “empty boxes.” “That’s not what that says,” I said — and then we opened it and discovered, indeed, nothing but empty boxes.

A huge thank you to everyone who helped us move in. And now it’s time to go figure out how to turn off our sprinkler system, because I just watched a guy with a crutch having to run past our house to escape a wetting.