T G I can link to better writers than I.

Steenblogen has a great post up about moving, carving out space, creating comfort amidst chaos and settling into a new home. I excerpt one lovely passage among many:

The house is awesome. The neighbours - especially the old lady across the street - are so nice. The furniture all seems to have a right place. The basement isn't creepy. My mom has slept better than she has in I can't remember how long. There's a sense of newness and safety emerging, and it rocks.

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Twisty's also talking about moving today but in a different sense, and it's just as engrossing a read:

Ten minutes later I'm in Blanco County (which, as it is the ancestral home of LBJ, I like to think of as the ur-Texas), and not a moment too soon. It's pretty sparsely populated, is Blanco County. If you, say, went off your nut and tried to fill up the Houston Astrodome with Blanco Countians, you'd have to clone each one seven times. Which is why the second you cross the county line, it's like the acid just kicked in. The traffic vanishes, it stops raining (if it had been raining) and the sky opens up, and there's this magnificent endless panorama of Texas, Texas, some vultures, and more Texas. Non-Texans, whom I pity, are pretty opinionated about Texas, and often not in a good way, I've noticed, and the reason for this is that they've never seen the view looking north on Ranch Road 3232.

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And here's the Thursday soccer crew, enjoying a brief moment of camaraderie in between furious halves. In the front row, we have (from left to right) Mike, Keshef, Raul, Sam and Jo; the back row (again left to right) is some guy who only joined us that one time and whose name completely escapes me right now, yours truly, Gary, Nasser and Hélène. Lusuturi te salutant.