I am a woman fairly hip around the edges with this obnoxious unraveling thread from a wool cotton blend sweater that seems to dangle and catch things in its path like a tumbleweed. Things like dry babywipes attached to misplaced spoons, a lone flax seed planted on my shoulder yearning to be back with his friends in the half eaten bag of Dave's Killer Bread and a sweet four year old's plump hand, sticky with Oregon strawberry freezer jam. Things like a tidy, well-placed office, a silverware separator free of crumbs and the ability to manage 6 loads of matching, folded laundry usually escape me. Thus, I can be a challenge for a type B personality. But at the end of the day in front of me I see (within view) 42 boxes ready to be filled with the contents of our abode for a move approximately two weeks away, the Sprint bill strewn upon the floor (that will show the man what I think about that Corporate Big Brother) a mirror with little hand prints, cards taped to the walls with Portuguese words, a barbie doll and an empty baby bottle. The things I feel ahead are a new adventure upon us-one that we are unsure and partly worried about how it will materialize. Stepping one foot into the unknown clinging, to faith that God will see us though, grateful to have apartment management skills that have allowed us security and friendships, confident the Lord gives us what we need not always what we want. The gentle muffle of The Subterranean Howling, "20,000 Leagues Under The Sea" trying to get it mixed ASAP to enter a local contest in hopes of landing a spot to be the opening act for "The Killers" Portland show. Thinking of many type A activities that might help balance today's strong leaning towards B for tomorrow-turning in kindergarten shot records, signing a job offer, organizing some orders for the business, maybe sorting and packing some of these 42 boxes. But today was for memories-the day we missed the first day of school.