The letter is in the cookie jar. I start to read it--but maybe I should save it for later, after I'm unpacked and have a cup of tea in my hand.
I set the folded paper on the table and lug my bags to the middle of the room. Wool and yarns go into the chest, clothes into the old bureau, towels and toiletries in the cupboard, a couple of books on the kitchen shelves. A kitchen-library--the perfect use for a room.
Henry has left the tins of beans and rice full. I'll figure out later what I need to pick up.
I snap out the sheets and put them on my bed, give the floor a good sweep--who am I becoming? I guess it's my spring cleaning. Then I steep my tea and return to the letter.