Many years ago, I worked for a company that moved into a wonderful old building in downtown San Francisco. Our phones weren't yet working, so I befriended an elderly, semi-retired gentleman whose office was next door. His office was filled with solid oak furniture that you just knew he had bought new in the 1940s, perhaps. I told him how much I loved his furniture and if he did decide to fully retire and would be interested in selling any pieces, I'd love to know.
About a year later, we were informed our building was being torn down--such a travesty--and we all had to move. Coming back from lunch one day, I see my coworker moving a captains chair into our office. When I ask, she whispered, "He's giving them to us!". In return for hugs from Kate and me, Mr. Thomas gave us a four-section barristers bookcase and a pair of captains chairs. Kate, bless her, decided since I was the reader, I should take a bookcase and that we split the chairs.
Kate and I have lost touch, and I'm certain Mr. Thomas has long passed on. Yet, each time I pass my bookcase, now filled with cookbooks, or look at my chair, I send the thoughts of love.
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