Me vs. Cardboard

The boxes are still winning, or it feels like they have the upper hand.  Just a few minutes ago, the remaining pillows for our bed emerged (from the one box I unpacked upstairs.)  We still have not settled on a place for Coy Boy, the betta fish, so his aquarium is lingering in the styrofoam box in our bedroom.

This afternoon after I got home from work (which was the world's best Saturday, nine patients only - and even though #8 was having some major issues (visual hallucinations of his wife in a 25 year younger version, and only occurring at home), it was all in all a good morning mostly thanks to the staff keeping things moving smoothly), my goal was boxes, boxes, boxes and more boxes.  In the middle of working my way through the garage, on a mission to find my wok and frying pan, the neighbor from 52 Krebs came over to introduce himself.

He's 85 year old, a World War II veteran (D-Day plus eight), has lived here 26 years and moved in a few days before Thanksgiving, his wife unpacked the entire house and had 32 guests for Thanksgiving dinner, his wife died eight years ago, a son lives down the road on Silvers Lane and moved here before my neighbor did, another son lives in Brooklyn, he spoke Italian with his mother, he drove a fellow soldier named Rausch who had immigrated to the US at age 15 and was then 38 at the end of WWII to a farm outside of Marburg to see his family for the first time in 23 years.  He's quite a character, but by the time we were done chatting, I had had enough of the heat and gave up on the garage and went inside to cooler air and other boxes.

Still no wok or frying pan.  No lamp from Thea's room.

Kids and husband went to the beach at Mantoloking today, so I had time to work on the house without little helpers.