Always.

I creaked and groaned as I rose from my office chair most of an hour ago, planning to go upstairs immediately for a second night in my very own, very comfortable bed. Yes, the movers delivered all of my stuff yesterday, right on schedule as they'd promised.

But the dishwasher needed emptying, then several boxes still stacked in the dining area caught my attention. Okay. I'd unpack one more. A dishpack, to make the progress more noticeable. Remove an item from the box, unwrap the layers of plain newsprint, put the dishes on the counter, in the cupboard, flatten the paper, repeat. Not a chip to be seen, no broken glasses, cups, plates, or bowls. Layer by layer, the box slowly empties.

Down near the bottom, I find a folded scrap of Neopolitan paper, the bright, multicolored paper I used for so many fannish projects over the years, including the "Official Friends of Toad Hall" list that Karen Johnson (WINYOLJ) compiled for the house cooling party. I unfolded the tiny scrap. There, in minnehahaK's handwriting: "Please remember we love you."

I do. I will. Always.

Wiping a heartfelt tear from my right eye, I tucked the ends of the note under two refrigerator magnets that surfaced in yesterday's unpacking.

This post written with love to all of my dear, dear friends in Minneapolis, and an extra measure of gratitude to K. for the treasure of that note.

Capabilities and dust

Some boxes, you open, unpack, and put stuff down or away. Hey, man; neat stuff. Nice to see it again. Good to have more than the dishes in the Interim Kitchen Kit at my disposal. Don't have to do the dishes so often; can instead fill the dishwasher and let it do its superior cleaning job.

Other boxes expand capabilities. Open the fax box, set it up, and I can immediately send faxes without having to first scan the document and do it electronically. Which is why that particular box got opened -- I needed to fax water test results to the well drillers so they can advise and quote on a filtration or water treatment solution to the iron and whatever else they want to advise treating. Clean the last of the Toad Hall dust off the printer stand, remove the printer from its box, plug everything in -- look, I can print again!

Speaking of dust, the aspect of using Graebel Movers that I find most charming today is that the only dust on my stuff is my dust. After five months in storage and 1200+ miles of travel, the only dust to be seen is utterly recognizable as mine. There's the dust outline around where the paper was stored on that shelf, there's where the TV sat, and where it didn't. The shelves I dusted before moving are dust-free. The drawers I didn't...my dust!

Some of the little used baking paraphernalia that needed cleaning before it was packed really needed cleaning when it was unpacked. Especially the pastry sheet. Phew. Rancid. Some of the pans won an extra scrubbing thanks to the influence of four months at Fanhihall, where even the broiler looks brand new, when I know it's anything but.

I'm off to wash some of the dust and grime off myself, then it's back to the boxes, and the discoveries waiting inside.