From Diane Setterfield's The Thirteenth Tale

People disappear when they die. Their voices, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living mempry of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continut to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humour, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic.

--Diane Setterfield



Sunday, May 29, 2011

Our new home

Welcome to our home.
I know these collages are kinda annoying, but I am working on a better system. 
This should be like a panoramic shot of the downstairs.  The panorama has been broken into three sections, but if you follow it left to right top to bottom it wraps all the way around.
It's very open. 
 Behind the kitchen and before you get to the garage is the pantry / laundry room. We have stocked the shelves and replaced the washer and dryer with our own.
Posted by at

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)