Most of us women don't go too far from hearth and home without grabbing that bag. We miss the weight in our hand if we start to leave without it.
Today had been planned with a certain precision to arrive at my Tuesday French class down the hill by six. With the tasks at hand, I had to leave home by no later than 2:30.
- At long last, take recycles down the hill: Lots of tightly stuffed bags of magazines (weighing in at around 30# each), newspapers, office paper, and phone directories; huge fluffy bags of shredded paper; big lumpy bags of plastics, glass and tin; a surprisingly small pile of cardboard, given how much space all those boxes had consumed in the garage and how long it took to flatten them.
- Deliver a couple of pieces of mail I'd picked up the day before to Brother-in-Law, who'd had to return to the Mountain House for tag ends of the floor installation, before or after which I must also --
- Take a shower;
- Stop at the post office for mail, as I was expecting a package on the 8th, although I couldn't remember what.
- Once down the hill, take the short side trip to the other edge of town to drop off recyclables and enlist the aid of someone strong to hoist my 30# bags overhead into the bin.
- Buy coffee, a two-pound bag of dark, oily French roast beans, and grind them fine in a professional grinder, which I cannot do at home; and a giant box of Cheerios. (There was thought that I could stop by a grocery store after French class and pick up orange juice and milk, which I'd run out of in the a.m.)
- Eat a leisurely dinner while reading our French assignment (I know, homework is supposed to be done sooner than that), probably at Denny's again.
- Find a cheap gas station (oxymoron) for a fill-up.
- And breeze into class at 5:55.
Hallelujah, I left the house for the post office at 2:25, ahead of schedule. Arriving at the post office 10-15 minutes later, I discovered I'd left home without my purse.
Rats! (I may have censored my true reaction here a bit.) How does this, which I admit, has happened before, happen? What about missing the weight in the hand? Aye, there's the rub (to quote someone). It's the weight, and I had ample weight in my bag of French books, as I've similarly had in previous occurrences. Nothing further could be accomplished for the rest of the day without going back home to get the purse and losing 25 minutes on the plan.
As I made my speedy round trip back and approached the top of the old road down the hill, I fell in behind -- such a coincidence -- the dusty-carpet laden truck of Brother-in-Law's floor installer, and the County ambulance. The ambulance set a very judicious pace down the hill. My mother had a couple of trips down there by ambulance and noted not only the curves, but that the patient is practically standing on her head on the steep grade.
Everything about speed was resolved within a few miles of reaching the bottom of the hill. I completed most tasks, albeit with a compressed timeline, with only minor glitches such as the coffee grinder jamming up on the fine oiliness of my beans, and having to swallow a slice of carrot cake practically whole in five minutes at a quiet Denny's; too tired for the extra after-class shopping, thus missing the Tuesday senior discount and eating Honey Bunches of Oats dry and drinking Orange Metamucil for breakfast on Wednesday. The cheapest gas was $3.39 a gallon, and I set out for home through a cold clear night under starry skies and a smiling (waxing crescent at 32% of full) moon. There were no vegetables out front of our little town grocery store this evening, only its somber, still façade. Oh, and the package was shoes, daringly ordered over the Internet.
Too tired to post immediately last night, or to fight with intermittent Internet outages, so only made notes to post later, as in now.
See you tomorrow.