Hooray for stuff
(That will never make the title of a song in a Broadway show. Oh, well.)
I can unconditionally recommend Schroeder Moving. They were awesome. All stuff is here, no stuff is missing, no stuff is broken that wasn’t broken already (we being of the, ahem, bohemian school of decorating), and their folks were pleasant and highly efficient.
The kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom are now quite usable. Living room and office are utter disaster areas. The Goths went all freaky again at being shut in the front closet for half the day (oh, hush—it’s got a window and we left plenty of nice warm bedding in there for them), but they’re out and exploring and seem pleased to have their favorite bits of stuff back. In Fairfax after Schroeder left they were pulling a Captain Jack Sparrow: “But why is the STUFF gone?”
I have been an exceedingly bad correspondent this week. I know whom I owe email to, and I will try to catch up tomorrow. Tonight, though, I’ve messed up my other shoulder and I’m tired to death, so it’s an hour or so reading in my own beloved tattered armchair and then bed—in my own bed—for me.