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Changing For me change is like breathing. I need it. Constantly. I get antsy if things stay the same for a really long time. And it makes me think crazy thoughts like I want to burn down my house and start over in some far away place. Or I want to sell all my belongings and jump the nearest train. So, to battle that, my house has its furniture rearranged more often than most. Rooms switch color before they can get cracks in the old paint. I give tons and tons to Goodwill and start all over with the little things. (Thank god for changing seasons or we'd all be in trouble.)

That seems to keep my gypsy blood from raging. "Whatever works," my grandma says.

Lately I've been really antsy. I have talked over moving to Italy and becoming spaghetti chefs with C. (Spaghetti is about the only thing I can cook.) I have mentioned selling all our belongings, jumping in the car and driving till we see a city we like. But no. That doesn't really work with a mortgage.

So, my bathroom changed color this weekend. Things were thrown out. A new plant put in. And I'm feeling a little appeased. But not quite. So this week one more room gets it. Or maybe too, depending on how bad it is this time.