This morning, before I sat in a windowless room and signed a stack of escrow documents the size of a small toddler, I took a walk in my beloved Paradise Cove.
Other than the claustrophobia and the writer's cramp, which mean I now own a house deep in the Santa Monica mountains, this makes today no different from the last 27 (but who's counting?) days since I left my place in the Cove.
We're moving into the new digs on Saturday. I'm promised that much hilarity -- and remodeling -- will ensue,