A picture-perfect night

Last night Mike and I were sitting outside reading on our front porch (the weather was perfect, by the way), and we looked out at the street and saw a couple jogging, kids riding their bikes, people walking their dogs, a family taking a walk . . . Mike said, “We should get Thomas Kinkade to come and paint our neighborhood.” I told him that was wrong, because all the lights weren’t on in all the houses, but it was a very picturesque moment. We should have gone in and gotten lemonade to drink while we were reading. Or sweet tea. We did go inside and get ice cream to eat on the porch.

One of the reasons I was glad to be outside was that yesterday the people who are fixing our house packed up all our books (and movies). I found this seriously distressing. For one thing, I have no idea how long it will be before they put new carpet down and I can see my books again. I feel incomplete without my books being readily available. For another thing, I feel a little violated, like someone went through all my books. I am sure that the guys who were packing them up were more concerned with their work than they were with flipping through my books, but it makes me a little uncomfortable nonetheless. I’m not nearly as attached to other stuff as I am my books. Books are just so . . . personal. Of course, it was very nice that we didn’t have to pack it all up ourselves, and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. It was just a bit jarring.

As it was, we had to go through pretty much all the boxes anyway, because there were some things we needed and some things Mike needed to return to the library. And, of course, we kept looking in the wrong boxes. Mike bets that they ran out of boxes before they finished the living room because (of course) we have so many books.

Anyway, enough of the book rant. It was a very nice night, and I feel pretty rested today.

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