I'm sitting in my new kitchen, a sunlit room with windows everywhere, like an observatory. There is a birdfeeder that may only be supplied by precariously climbing behind the fridge and onto the roof outside. There are chipmunks and cats climbing fences and wizened trees and eclectic yards and a dormant volcano in view. There are lots of plants, inherited from my predecessor here or under the care of my new roommate. Of my new neighbors, I know little, save that a string quartet practices regularly next door on the one hand, and a family with adorable small children may be glimpsed through the windows next door on the other. Bucolic, indeed. Et in Arcadia ego.
The evacuation of the bunker-apartment has been achieved without any undue difficulty. To my knowledge, the only Paul-article left behind is my 12" wok, which I intend to retrieve immediately.
I have received the flight tickets for the upcoming Philippines Odyssey, to begin in less than six days. I mentioned to one of my aunts that I will be intending to visit my mother's family in San Fernando, and they looked at me like I was intending to visit the far side of Mars. Oh, this will be fun.