I suppose that over a longish life one learns many things. I have learned that I own way to much stuff. I didn't think I owned any more then I had when I moved from Vermont 9 years ago. Or it could be I was just 9 years younger back then. Even after giving away things that I collected all my life, like my Craftsman seven drawer tool box loaded with metric and american sized wrenches and sockets to my son in law, I still have to much stuff.
The move went smoothly but my new apartment looks like a bomb went off, but I suppose that all I need to do is find my way to the kitchen, the bathroom and the bedroom and have all our sequestered time to putter with finding a place for the rest of the stuff.
Everyone I met is very friendly, with the exception of one lady that started out OK, but then took a turn for uncomfortable when she reveled that the lady that previously occupied my apartment was her best friend. She had passed away a few weeks ago of renal failure. Her friend via body language and voice tone made it clear that she was not happy about me being the replacement. For the past couple of decades I have been pretty much a loner, but I'm starting to think that this place is going to pull me into someone that has to communicate with the general public. At least, after the era of social distancing has ended.
I did notice that a small grouping (at least 6 feet apart) had gathered at the atrium to take some sort of inventory of all my furniture and how many boxes I had, I guess. I'm glad I could provide some entertainment for the semi-isolated.