So far, casualties of moving include the lid of my Franciscan Coronado teapot (carefully glued back together by Mr. Daddy) and the most of my lovely Emile Henri pie dish, which has a very large triangle out of it and a crack halfway along the bottom that would let out any liquid and looks like it's eager to just split off altogether. My current recommendation is finish the break and reglue. It's odd; having this stuff in my kitchen was one of the big impetuses (impeti?) for going through the hassle of packing things up, and yet the oddest things have chosen to spite me (and in spite of themselves - both of these things were hardly fragile) and divorce themselves from their former existence as "a" piece of clay for, perhaps, a more adventurous life as a chunk and some shards.
shadowdaddy kindly ignored my pleas that I didn't need my various vintage cookbooks and packed them all up with the lot, so now I've got every casserole recipe under the sky shelved on top of the cabinet in the dining room. I think shadowdaddy used the Joy of Cooking in his kitchen ventures tonight, but next time he'll have options.
I was talking to a nice French guy tonight (one of my coworkers, I don't have any idea what I should nickname him) about why we weren't at the big $howboat do, and he said, "In France, we have parties by having smaller groups of people over to our houses, then we can actually visit with them." So I've invited him over to mine for a party at the end of the month. He did really enjoy the big lunch out we all had yesterday, and between that and the gorgeous German developer (blue eyes, light brown hair, has aged three years in the last week due to overwork, super sweet and kind) telling me the lunch I brought him was the highlight of his day, I'm really feeling the love with the folks I'm working with today.