Box by box.

That's been my week.

One of my favorite stories is is "Bird by Bird," Annie Lamott's great book about writing. In it, she tells a childhood story about how she put off a grade-school assignment where she had to write a report on dozens of birds. She put off the work until the night before. Her dad sat down with her and helped her with the first bird story. She asked, "How are we going to get to 30? Her dad said, "Bird by bird."

I'm down to one open box in each room. Saturday morning, I'll place the box next to a table and sweep anything on a flat surface into the box and tape it up. Even if it's glass. Even if it's as delicate as Tony Romo.

There.

Packed.

Then a friend is coming over to help clean. 

Sunday, the professional movers arrive. I had friends lined up -- I can't afford professionals -- but I have to move during what is "Birkie weekend," the one weekend of the year where 10,000 skiers and 10,000 fans show up for the biggest cross country ski event in the United States.

That night, I'll check back into the restaurant where I stayed for a month when moving here. And when my furnace was fixed. The rooms are nice and clean and the folks are like family.

I damn well might have a steak that night.

Starting Monday, it's back to work and a more relaxing time for the next two to three weeks. Then I'll move into my second residence in a year.

Peace and relaxation unto all of you my brothers and sisters.