Every Thursday night, Alex and I go to the Pour House. It's hardly a block from our apartment, and the owner and bartender both know us by name. The food is delicious, and the drinks are tasty, and the atmosphere is pleasant. We went tonight after we'd moved two car-loads of stuff, and were stunned by the number of people there. It at first appeared to be standing room only, but we found the one empty table and sat. Apparently there was a retirement party for a physician's assistant who has worked at the Dean Clinic for at least 22 years, and has only taken two half sick days off in her whole career there. She filled the clinic with laughter, and patients as well as coworkers loved her. We didn't know her, neither of us had ever met her, but there were heart-felt speeches from relatives and coworkers, and finally the PA herself, and that was enough to give me a very clear picture of what a pleasure this woman took in her job. There was a lot of love for this one person tonight, and I was genuinely glad to have been there. I only hope to have as many good stories told about me one day, and with even just half as many people who showed up tonight.
So far we've moved: Almost all of the kitchen, all of the clothes on hangers, the little bookshelves, all of the books, all of my crocheting gear, Alex's laptop, the camping equipment, some - but not all - decorations and posters, floor lamps, a side table, our window unit ACs, most of our fans, blankets, towels, the blow-up bed, all DVDs and their shelf, my planters, the video game consoles... And... I'm not sure. It has been eight solid car loads, and you can tell a big difference in the apartment, but it just doesn't sound like all that much. Oh well, I'm very tired, very full, and very pleased with how the day has turned out.
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