Without a Clue
Without a Clue This process of exiting Ithaca is proving to be even more drawn out than I had previously imagined. I keep saying to myself that I have written my last story about closing down my 26-year home here and moving on, but something always seems to draw me back in. I sincerely hope this is the last of these stories, but I cannot promise that for certain. I have shipped seventeen boxes of…

