Ready, set, rock!

More pictures:

Dining Room

Living Room

The chicken prison

the back yard

the guest room

I met with the realtor last week.  I signed on the dotted line.  It's for sale.  It's real.  The chickens are now confined to a small area of the yard (poor girls.. they don't like it one little bit!).  All that's left to do, really, is wash the windows and clean out the garage.  Yesterday we made 3 trips to charity, one trip to the storage locker and Peter's car was full to the brim.

Speaking of Peter's car being full.  He took his super-duper pressure washer home as well as a few boxes, but mostly his car was full of something else.  Go ahead, ask me what it was full of!  It was full of... (drum roll please....)

Rocks.

Not unlike The Long Long Trailer starring Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, where Lucy is stashing rocks in every nook and cranny of their honeymoon trailer. I've been collecting rocks for years.  

Before me, it was my mother and father.  It's probably genetic.  When I was a child they would collect rocks as souvenirs from all their adventures - most entirely legally, but I know of one story where they hid rocks in the wind shield washer vessel under the hood of their car.   All the way home they prayed it wouldn't rain so they would not need their washers. When my mom and dad moved back to Missouri in 1989 they hauled all these rocks back with them.  They moved from one house to another back there and moved the rocks.  When my mom moved in with me in Vancouver, she brought the rocks (much to my brothers consternation as he was the one who helped her with that move).  When we moved to Salem, we brought her rocks and my rocks - now permanently inter-mingled and combined, the subject of who's rocks are who's too blurry to sort through.  Now, I'm moving them all north with me.  Stupid rocks.  I've been moving them one or two rocks at a time but it's getting crunch time.  So the remainder all went this weekend.  Although, I do think he missed some around the corner in the back...  (I'll sneak them up when he's not looking)

Peter, bless his heart, gathered up all the rocks adorning my landscape and drug them out to the sidewalk and proceeded to power wash them all on Saturday.  Without a word of complaint or mention of my insanity.  In fact, when asked, he thought it was perfectly normal to collect rocks and move them criss-cross around the country.  He did mention, when his car was all filled up, that he felt like he was driving "uphill" because of all the weight in the back.

I doubt I'll stop either.  I like rocks.