We've reached the phase of moving in that I like to think of as stage Zork, where every household quest seems to fail for the lack of a single, crucial item – usually one that I just saw the day before. Today, while looking for my grammar and usage dictionary, I finally found the ruler I needed for assembling the wheelbarrow, right in the closet where I noticed it last week. When I was first looking for the ruler, I found and set aside our printer paper; yesterday I gave in and bought a new pack. And so it goes.
It's not all as frustrating as this sounds, though. Hank Goldberg is getting to know the other puppies in the neighborhood and the congregation; he gazes mournfully at us as we eat, even though I've never asked for a single kibble from him. Evenings we all cuddle up on the couch, fire up the woodstove and sometimes listen to the archives of our local NPR affiliate's Old Time Radio Drama program. It's quite cozy, but it raises the question:
Who was the talent scout that saw Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy performing in the Catskills and said, "This is an act made for radio!"