Reading Terminal Market

It’s been almost a month since I joined Anne Mei in our apartment in Philadelphia along with our furniture and “stuff.”  As mentioned before, despite all the donating and discarding we still hadn’t downsized enough.  I won’t bore you with the details, but will just mention we’re still living with boxes in the living room and closets packed to overflowing, even after the large storage area was filled.

Anne Mei is working hard.  Three days a week at her field placement in Shriners Hospital and two long days of classes, with evenings and weekends filled with reading and writing.  At least they do it all online now so we don’t have to deal with textbooks and tomes adding to the clutter.

I’m becoming a real Philadelphian with a Free Library card and, as of this morning, a SEPTA senior pass that will allow me free public transportation (bus, rail, and trolley).  Actually, Gale said I became a real Philadelphian when I bitched about the sugar tax on drinks.  Theoretically, it’s a good idea to cut down on consumption of unhealthy sugar.  But I had sticker shock at 96 cents tax on a four dollar carton of almond milk.  Next time I’ll buy unsweetened, which is the idea.

By the way, someone told us that our apartment was located in an area with no public transportation nearby.   Not so.  There are at least three bus routes that stop within two blocks of our apartment.  Customer service at SEPTA was very helpful to show me these options after I got my senior pass.  I needed to know because I’m going to the HIAS event on Sunday August 11 on Independence Mall, one of many all around the nation demanding Close the Camps!  The shuttle run by our apartment complex does not run on weekends, and I didn’t think my 75 year-old knees would hold up walking two miles to the Mall and back, while standing at least for an hour in between.

The apartment shuttle did take me to SEPTA this morning.  While waiting for the return trip, I stopped at Reading Terminal Market for coffee and a muffin.  It was mobbed with tourists and a lunchtime crowd of workers and jurors.  Reading Terminal Market resonates with many strong memories, even more so the barbecue chicken that I brought home for Anne Mei and me to eat for supper.  I thought that I had blogged here about Laura eating that chicken on the day of her last Avastin infusion, but found that post buried in an autobiography that I had started on Wattpad five years ago.  Another writing project I need to get back to now that we’re settled in Philadelphia.


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