I thanked him and opened the door wide. He picked up the box, and without putting a foot over the threshold, placed it just inside the door. I thanked him. Now getting it up the stairs and onto the bed was going to be another story.
I'm not sure who built the building in the 1940's but I am convinced he (or she) had to be at least 6' 8" tall. Working in the kitchen, I found I could barely reach the kitchen cabinets, much less anything inside. Even at 5' 2", I had never had that problem before. Note to self - I need a step stool.
In the master bedroom there was a nice size closet. However, when trying to hang up some of my clothes, I could not reach one of the hanging bars. Once again, I made a note - I need a stool.
I spent the next few hours unpacking and putting things in their proper places. There was great satisfaction with each box I emptied. But, the number of boxes never seemed to decrease. This was worse than the Tribbles on Star Trek.
On the edge of exhaustion, I grabbed a glass of tea, moved a few items from the sofa, and took a seat. It was all coming together. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel or rather the living room floor. There was a noise outside which sounded like the mail being delivered. Sure enough, opening the door, I saw the mailman making his way down the walk way. I opened the door and reached to my left where the mailbox was mounted on the wall. Standing on my toes, I could barely open the box, much less reach inside for any mail that may be there. Note to self - I really need a stool.