Boxes, boxes everywhere, and not a drop to drink.

We are semi-unpacked.  I still don't know where any of my pants are, and I only just found my cache of socks.  But the important bit is done.

That's Señor Bones down on the bottom left, ogling Estella the Lady Skeleton. Sam Skellington is in storage, so the good Señor has roughly eight months to make his move.  But he also might be forced to wear Sam's various hats, so it's a bit of win/lose for him.

I have vacation posts (in my brain.  Not written.  Unpacking makes me nappish) but to tide you over, Joel and I stopped at Pig for pulled pork sandwiches on our way out of Victoria forever.

We will obviously be returning, if only for said sandwiches.  If you are of the meat-eating persuasion, and in our province's capital, and in possession of six dollars, make your way to Johnson and Blanshard.  They have soda pop in glass bottles as well.  I am jealous of my past self.