ring in the holidays

A couple of months into the last winter from hell, the one that started exactly a year ago today with the ice storm that moved swiftly into the Polar Vortex and plunged into temperatures of -40C for days on end... I leapt at the chance to change one of my delivery routes to one that was inside a trio of condo buildings. (I now have 15 buildings all together, and only 10 houses, yay!) There were fewer newspapers, and a fair bit more walking, but it was INDOORS where it was all cosy and warm (and some of the elevators are put on service by the nice security guards, so I save my back from carrying all that weight). Some of these buildings are like being in a small village or a hamlet - each one has a distinct personality, even if there are several in a complex by the same developer. The lobbies are decorated with sofas and coffee tables and dressers as if you are entering a formal living room. And now they all have Christmas trees up and some have a host of decorative tchotchkes on mantles and tables that never seem to mysteriously walk off (I suppose all the security cameras help). And I have noticed that in at least one of the buildings there is a profusion of wreaths and such ornamenting the doors to the apartments. Not on all floors, mind you, but for some reason everyone on the 7th floor of the Magnolia building has taken to making their entry stand out. There are ten apartments on each floor. Walk with me on a different sort of Monday Walk for Restless Jo along the corridor....

It is hard to convey just how big some of these wreaths (and those bells!!) are. And I love the fact that except for those two longer ones with the silver balls (#10 and #3) they are all very different. I find I look forward to walking along this floor and am slightly let down as I go to the 6th floor just below and find only two lonely decorations and one of those isn't even Christmassy! Obviously, this floor is the one with the more interesting people. The ones who really get into the spirit of the season. 

Now, about those xmas tips for your newspaper carrier.......

winter and driving

We've been having blizzardly weather these last couple of days.

This is a slight variation on the stormy weather and frigid weather of late. All this blowing snow sure is pretty, though. Lots of swirls and cliffs and then suddenly - a bare patch with grass sticking up! Another deep freeze is on the way, I hear. But this is no Polar Vortex, it is an Alberta Clipper (apparently an important distinction, though various accounts seem to be making them interchangeable)

Whatever. 
By the time I finished work and got home, my jeans were frozen from the knees down and the ends of my laces had snowy white pompoms on them.

Now that I'm home, I'm not driving again. My car worked hard getting through the snow and slush last night.

I found this on a website that likes to unearth vintage photos and am wishing that The Toronto Star still had these lovely newspaper delivery vans and made them available to the carriers.

little helpers

The last couple of weeks have been utterly glorious. And the nights have been just as special. Save for one rogue weekend, the skies have been clear and starry and warm enough for a t-shirt still.

I had added another route to my deliveries and the car was filled with bundles of newspapers. I was running a little late and knew I needed to speed up my game a little, but I was slowed down by having to check the route list so often to see where my next stop was. As I was backing out of a driveway, carefully, to avoid hitting any of the many recycling bins, I suddenly noticed a raccoon in my side mirror. She was climbing inside my car through the open rear window. This was a little worrying. A quick turn around to see the back seat and I discover there are three little ones curled up on the bundles of newspapers. Then Mama is waving her arms and motioning me to back up, turn the steering wheel and "go". I'm wondering how I'm going to get to the papers. I pull over one from the passenger seat and toss it at the next porch. When I look in the rear view mirror the three little ones are sitting up watching me.  As I drive off, I see that they have organized themselves and one somehow manages to pick up a paper even while sitting on it and hand it to his sibling who folds it and hands it off to the next sibling who wraps it in an elastic band and hands it to me. We continue on this way for a while, getting into a steady rhythm. Soon we're all singing along to Taylor Swift on the radio. I reach behind to grab the next paper, but they are gone. Mama is grinning as she picks up a tabloid and opens it up and lets it fly out the window. One by one she does this, with her head out the window in the manner of a dog watching the papers float down the street. I'm laughing, even if it is slightly disastrous. I slam on the brakes.

And jerk awake.

best dream I've ever had.

delightful and sweet

So, how did you spend your extra day?

I started mine by spending it in bed with George Clooney. Well, I was in bed and he was on the television. He was wearing a suit with an opened shirt and no tie, so I was a little confused about the dress code, but I thought I should make an effort and so wore my silky pyjamas. I actually met up with him the night before, but I didn't read the schedule properly and didn't realize he was on Inside the Actor's Studio for 2 hours. Fortunately the show was repeated overnight, which was a little awkward, but it was George after all, so I made it work. He was charming and delightful, and I went to work with his lovely smile in my mind, making me smile.

I don't get the chance to meet up with too many people when I am at work. At certain times as night blends into early morning, you meet the same dog-walkers who will acknowledge you and the same joggers, who will not. It is rare that I actually see any of my customers, which I guess is partly the point - you wake up and your newspaper is sitting at your door as if delivered by elves or spirits. But occasionally, if there is a delay and I am a little later than usual, I may run into someone as they open their door.

Such was the case one time when an apartment door opened just as I was about to drop the paper. We laughed at the synchronicity of the meeting, and through the doorway I caught a glimpse of the most amazing sunrise. I was invited inside to have a better look out over the lake. He had a telescope positioned for watching the ships that slowly pass by. We chatted amiably and I have seen him maybe three other times over the past eight years. He always takes a holiday for a couple of weeks at Christmas and again in the summer. He doesn't cancel the paper when he is away, but instead leaves a note with the dates, which is generous as I still get paid for the paper. For some reason he thinks my name is Sasha. Not sure where he got that idea (though it could be from my sloppy handwriting after writing out several hundred Christmas cards). He is also the sort of man who uses your name when he speaks (or writes) to you and it has become embarrassing to correct him, so I let it go.

So, when I got on the elevator this morning and there was a man who looked vaguely familiar, and he said good morning Sasha, I knew it was the nice man from #704. I was idly wondering what it was he was carrying in his hands when he offered an explanation.

"I was just down in the laundry room"

Okay, it wasn't much of an explanation, but by now I recognized the small appliance.

"It is just so noisy, and I don't want to wake my wife" he further explained "so I take the coffee grinder down to the laundry room to grind the beans".

Is that not the sweetest thing?

Yes, waking to the smell of fresh ground coffee is certainly preferable to hearing the fresh grinding.

And waking to George Clooney's smiling face can make the day brighter.

it is startling

I guess I can admit this here. My secret is out.

I have been known to talk to myself. Out loud. Though, with the proliferation of Bluetooths stuck in people's ears, it is not as strange a sight coming across someone in the grocery store talking out loud as it once was. Still, I do sometimes startle myself when I realize that I am thinking out loud.

The other night I was caught by a dog walker who was laughing so hard his dog turned to look quizzically at him. 

"Did you just apologize to that rabbit?" 

"Well, yes, I did." 

I startled the poor little guy, who went scurrying off, so it only seemed polite. And a natural thing to do. 

I am Canadian, afterall.

Yesterday, I met up with the dog walker in the elevator.

"Still scaring the bunnies?" he asked.

It wouldn't have been so bad if there weren't other people in the elevator.

SundayStills - sunrise

Working nights, I have become acutely aware that the sun is rising later and later. And we haven't had any spectacular views over the past couple of weeks, until last Friday at 5 am. I still had one building left to deliver, which would have taken less than 10 minutes, but I decided to make those early morning people wait a little longer for their newspaper while I ran down to the waterfront to capture this.

see more sunrise/sunsets at SundayStills

wild nights in the city

During my nights of delivering newspapers, I often count things to keep myself alert and amused. Like counting driveways (which is useful for remembering which houses to deliver to) or how many rabbits were running around (which is considerably less useful).  It was winter, February as I recall, about 10 years ago, and I was mindlessly counting, and being slightly annoyed by the number of willow twig deer that graced so many of the front yards of this particular neighbourhood. I don't know why this annoyed me, but it did. Suddenly, as I passed the first three deer, I was aware that the other three deer had ever so casually turned their faces and eyes to gaze on mine. I stopped in my tracks and gazed back. It was a surreal moment that felt like it lasted half an hour, but was probably more like half a minute. Then, suddenly, in that instinctual way that animals do, they all turned as one and ambled away through the gap between the houses into the back yard. I was entranced. And I wondered if I would encounter them again. I did.  I was zooming around the corner when my headlight shone on a family of five deer standing in the middle of the road. I was ever so glad I had good snow tires and quick reflexes.

Rabbits are the most numerous of the animals I encounter - one night I counted 14 in one yard - and skunks are by far the most threatening, with the worst night trying to avoid 12. (I know, this counting stuff is all meaningless to you...) I have met up with several local wildlife and each time I find it a little exhilarating to see them in such a big urban area. Well, okay, that's maybe not exactly true. I do hate Tuesdays as that is garbage night and people still insist on putting their bags of garbage and their blue boxes with unwashed tins and jars out on the curb the night before pick up, which means it gets strewn halfway across the road and the yard by the raccoons and skunks. I have had my garden turned upside down and emptied by rabbits. I have had raccoons in my attic, skunks under the porch and squirrels tearing the screen to get into my kitchen. I have also been kept awake by the scratching and scrabbling of wildlife, not to mention the high pitched screeching of the mating and fighting of the raccoons.

But, never in  a million years would it occur to me bash a family of raccoons with a shovel as one man in Toronto has recently been arrested for doing. As meddlesome and annoying as these creatures can be, I also have a healthy admiration for their (and other wildlife, but especially raccoons) ability to adapt to urban living. City dwellers seem to be viciously divided on their relationship with wildlife living among them. (read some of the hundreds of comments on the linked article, if you have any doubts!) Some people hate them and others seem to find it fun to attract them by feeding them (as if these wild animals had no skills of their own). So, on the one hand we push certain animals, like deer away by invading their natural habitat and on the other we attract some, like raccoons, by leaving food and garbage for them to feast on, thus increasing their lifespan and their waistlines.

a pleasantly wasted day

I had another last minute cancellation today. This would be the third one in the last two weeks. Since I only had seven appointments, this is not a good average. Working part-time has some disadvantages...

Yesterday's phone call a half hour before I was to be at my appointment was rather annoying. We had already changed the time only the night before. Had I known what a busy schedule she had set up for herself, I would have gently convinced her to pick another day, knowing that she would be far too tired.

Really, I would have spent my day differently had I known that I would not be required to head out for an appointment at 7PM. I most probably would not have wasted a pleasant afternoon napping. I may have gone to the gym, or for a long walk. Or maybe called a friend to join me for lunch. I need to renew my membership at the botanical gardens and I might have done that before wandering through the trails looking for birds and wildflowers.  I may even have tackled the kitchen cupboards that I have been meaning to re-organize for some time.

Or, I may have just napped after all.

Of course, I could have done all that, even with an evening appointment. But, my day, as unstructured as it often is, feels very different when I know that I have no obligations. Starting work in the evenings and then continuing a second job through the night means my sleeping and eating patterns are hit and miss. I try to accommodate as much as possible and it helps to know when I am expected to be alert and personable. I am not very personable on little sleep. You'd think only working 4-5 hours a day would be a piece of cake and it might be if I were able to drift off to a blissful 8 hour sleep. I do tend to spend more time thinking about chores that need doing than actually doing them. It helps that I have no-one to account to and can ignore blaming myself.

I love having so much free time. I just wish so much of it wasn't wasted. I seem to be very good at doing that myself, without your cancellations.

Now, I have tea to drink on my balcony. That box of paperwork can wait another day.

missing you

I will miss you, she said.

I stifled a laugh. It seemed odd, to think of being missed. Not quite the same as thinking of events that you will miss being a part of, like seeing your grandchildren grow up, or being around for your daughter's wedding.

She can not cry, I was told. If she gets emotional, she cannot breathe. So, I did not want to say "I will miss you, too". Did not want to admit that this would be our last visit. Did not want to dwell on her imminent passing.

I have known Mrs Epp for almost all the 14 years I have lived here. She is my oldest patient and would be 96 at her next birthday. But she will not see her next birthday. For most of the past year we have had a standing appointment, every 3 weeks (or more frequently as needed) and I have seen her becoming frailer and smaller with each visit. Yet, until December, she always looked forward to the massage - such as I could give her.

When I got the response from her daughter saying it would be good to visit but that she may pass away that night, or tomorrow... or next week... I knew that, snowstorm or not, I would drive the 30 minutes into the city to see her.

Our appointments over the years have always included an extra hour or so of health talk and pleasantries and an examination of her latest knitting/crocheting/tatting project. She had a computer long before I did and was excited to show me what she had learned to do on it. Whenever she had a new health issue, she spent hours researching it on the internet. She was almost giddy at how easy it was to keep in touch with her far flung family. I followed her as she resolutely moved herself into an 'independent living' centre long before it was really necessary. I used her as an inspiration for my parents when they refused to even consider moving into a seniors home even when it was so plainly necessary. Three times she moved, each time a little bit closer to her daughter and farther away from her old friends. She was fortunate to have the finances to live in beautiful surroundings and to have round the clock care when she needed it. Still, she has lingered long enough.

I don't have the strength to give you a hug. So, I reached towards her and pressed my cheek against hers. A little later, after waking up more, some morphine, a new comfortable position, she brightened and found the strength for a hug. An embrace that I wished would end before my tears came. I must not cry. She must not cry.

Mrs Epp, I will miss you. Dearly.

Comments are not necessary. I needed to write this out for myself.

And I needed to share it with my far flung friends.

my eyes are resting

I am still kicking around, although you may not have seen much of my presence of late. Work has gotten a bit out of hand. It has zapped me of my wakefulness and energy. And my muse.

Being useful makes me feel good. I usually like being able to help people out. Then there is the asking of help with your deliveries while you are on holidays in Georgia, or North Carolina or wherever, and having the suggested 80 newspapers balloon into 145........ I am exhausted from helping you out.

I fell asleep on the couch with the tv on - again. Actually, the on/off button on the remote is still broken, so the tv is almost always on as I am too lazy to actually wander over to the set and find the little on/off button to turn it off (or unplug it). Anyway, just wondering.... can anybody out there explain the attraction of the Jersey Shore?

Anybody?

I didn't think so.

My eyes need more rest.

SundayStills - sunrise/sunset

A few months ago, I decided I was tired of working all night and having so much of my daytime hours disrupted. So, I quit one of my paper routes. It didn't take long before I discovered the flaw in that plan. I would now miss all those glorious sunrises! And I chose the warmest, driest, winter in decades to decrease my workload, but that is okay. The sunrises though, I really missed.

I do have hundreds of great sky shots in my files, but this week's challenge of sunrise/sunset specifically said "no archives".

So, I stayed up every morning to capture a sunrise.

This sunrise was the only that tried really hard to add some colour, but even it faded almost immediately from the exertion.

Then I tried for a sunset, hoping this overcast sky would add some drama.

Sadly, the sun was actually setting farther off to the right and the cloud cover evened itself out and blanked out the last bit of sun. Still, it is a pretty dusk scene so I am including it.

One night I managed to catch a quick glimpse behind the highrise buildings.

And then it started raining on Friday... and has not let up.

So check out the other SundayStills contributors and see what magnificent skies were happening in their corner of the world this week.

and the rains came down and washed it all away...

The worst part of my job of delivering newspapers is not the 2AM start time, nor the 364 days a year, though that is hard to handle. Nor is it the cold winter nights, the ice, or the wind and rain - those are fleeting in the grand scheme of things.

The worry of running into a skunk usually amounts to nothing as they amble off, in search of more garbage. Waving the paper in front of you helps to dispel the occasional spider web. You learn to lift your feet so as not to trip over kids' toys, or garden hoses, or small plants left in your way that you cannot see in the dark. And to listen for that telltale sississ of the sprinkler system starting up before the water streams out in an unknown direction that could likely be where you are standing.

I hate running into people in the elevators. I am tired and dirty and sweaty and don't smell nearly as fresh as they who are newly awake and recently showered.

No, the worst part is the ever present markings of newsprint. It gets everywhere. And by everywhere, I mean everywhere that you touch. Your face, your hair, your clothes, the apple fritter that you stupidly decided you needed, the door that you push to open, the handrail, the switch plate, the taps ... and most irritatingly, the steering wheel. Because once it is on the steering wheel, the whole dirty process starts over again every time you are in the car. It is not easy to wash off. It takes a lot of furious scrubbing. Dish soap is often the best for getting through the grime. But there is almost always still a touch of it embedded within your fingerprints. Dark grey water droplets get all over the sink and the counter and walls and mirror if you are stupid enough to automatically shake your damp hands before drying off with a towel. It goes without saying that I have no white towels.

Oh, I know, there are ways around this. I could wear latex gloves - some people do - but I find them irritating and they never fit properly on my short fingers. And that wouldn't stop the problem of newsprint getting all over the steering wheel. I could wash the steering wheel every morning ... but we all know that is not going to happen. I could have Wet Ones (or equivalent) and use them after every twenty papers or so, but that would just make my hands sticky. And eat into my time and profit because I'd be going through an awful lot of them with 320 papers a night (400 + inserts on Saturday).

Last night (Saturday morning delivery) had to be one of the worst. Not only did we get lashings of rain pissing down as if the gods (all of them) were pouring out buckets, but I 'scared' two - 2! - skunks who were playing in the puddles. I can still taste the acrid smell in the back of my throat, though I don't think they sprayed very much and at least not directly at me or my car. I backed into a bright yellow bollard that I couldn't see for the heavy rain and fogged up windows, denting and scraping the new paint job on the rear bumper.

BUT, it was my last night for one of the papers. It was not easy to decide to give up a contract job (though after last night...). I know that I am tired of being tired all the time. There are so many other things I would like to do - like take a few more little holidays. Go to a few more fall festivals. Stay up late and watch Jon Stewart at 11 instead of at noon the next day. I can replace the exercise (?!) I'm losing by going on early morning hikes. There are over 100 waterfalls to explore in the city of Hamilton. And my car will be just a little bit less dirty.

I will hopefully fit in a few more massage appointments to pay for the car repairs.....

how much fun is that

I was despairing of ever emerging from this deep, dark, dungeon I had dug myself into over the winter. My social life was suffering. All of my own doing, I must admit, as I couldn't find the energy or enthusiasm to do anything that involved getting dressed and heading outdoors. (unless I was getting paid)

Then, a couple of weeks ago, round about the time I was getting quite bored with my own company, my brother phones to tell me they are coming down for my birthday. This is a rare treat. In fact, I had given up inviting my family to visit, as it never happened. Not even when I moved to live nearer my brother in the hopes of more get-togethers before they moved out of town did they ever stop by. Never have they come just to see me. This meant a massive spring cleaning. Which was good in many ways. I feel so much better now in my less cluttered space, having frantically gotten rid of anything I couldn't find room for. Anyway, the visit came and went, they discovered for themselves that the 1 1/2 hour drive (in ideal conditions) is quite doable in a weekend (as it certainly was for me going the other way...) and are now making plans to come back for Easter and again in the summer. It took almost 12 years of living here. And the fact that now there are only us left and no parents to bind our visits.

Last week, I went to visit one of my mother's friends and had an interesting visit with her and next week it will be to see another of her friends who I know misses their nightly chats. This weekend I have the garden show, the Live at the Met opera at the cinema, then a dinner date to round it out. Then, on Thursday morning when I went into work, I saw a notice that I had won tickets to see Disney on Ice! Wonderful - well, you know how excited I get when I win a coffee, so this was a true over-the-moon-excitement. I have a friend who loves this sort of thing, so I told her she and her husband were invited and I would try to find a fourth for our night out. Things were really looking up for a socially exhausting weekend.

The notice said to contact my district manager to arrange to pick up the tickets. But there is a changeover in managers this month and the one I was directed to was on holidays, so I left a voicemail message. This morning (Friday morning) I went into work and the new manager was there meeting everyone. He had been on holidays (were both away?) and knew nothing about it, but there was an envelope in my mailslot. An envelope with four tickets to Disney on Ice. For Thursday night. Last night. How stupid is that?

It's a damn good thing at least the sun is shining today.
It's SPRING and I'm off to the Canada Blooms, to dream away my cares and woes.
Photos to follow. I promise.

It's not as cold as you think, or is it colder?

It has been a little frigid in these parts lately. At first I don't notice the intense cold when I go outside, probably because I've already started to overheat in the elevator with my many layers of fleece. But once inside the car, the cold seeps through the layers from the leather seat and the steering wheel, and the icy blast of air envelopes your body while waiting for the hot air to come through the vents.

I become obsessed with the outside temperature gauge. I glance at it probably more often than at the clock or the rearview mirrors. Good thing it doesn't report the windchill.

What the ... -17? it was only -15 a minute ago.

I finally hit on the perfect solution to mess with my head.

I changed the setting to fahrenheit.

Immediately got rid of that nasty minus sign.

Didn't get rid of the -29 windchill, but 3 felt so much warmer than -15.
and I have no idea really, what fahrenheit means anymore

Last night, when I got into the car, I forgot that I had changed it and immediately thought I'd be overdressed for 6 and wondered what happened to the -29 windchill.

But then I saw the little F .

And remembered that it is always warmer in the parking lot, nestled under the trees.
And watched the temperature decrease to 0.

stocking feet

Socks are an odd adornment. You'd think they'd suffer a little from identity as to whether they belong with outerwear or underwear. But they know how to make themselves shine. They seem to be just as comfortably aligned with outerwear as in "socks and shoes" as they are lined up with underwear while sharing the same drawer space. I don't really think of them as 'underwear', but that is usually where you find them in a department store: on the edges of the 'lingerie' department and not beside the shoe department. Sometimes they become part of the 'accessories' department which also usually hugs lingerie. But unlike other underwear, the waistband of the Fruit of the Looms, or the skinny bra strap, or the hem of the slip, socks are meant to be seen. They peek out cheekily from the bottom of the pants (trouser) leg and the top of the shoe. There is always that dilemma as to whether to match them with the shoes or the outfit.

And a wrongly chosen sock can destroy an outfit and certainly alter another's opinion of yourself in the process (especially if they don't match). Your choice of hosiery may end up saying more about yourself than you ever imagined. You can get away with the hearts, cheeky messages, hockey logos, or cartoons on your briefs secure in the knowledge that only those of your choosing will ever actually see them. But socks have a way of being noticed by others. Are you an all black or only white sock kind of person? Or do you like a bit of argyle, some pattern, or a splash of colour? Or a Hello Kitty draped over your calf?

My niece (who is 30) loves to wear fancy socks. She has patterns and themes and drawings and bows and sparkles on all of her socks. I would not be caught be dead wearing such things. I like mine to be plain. Preferably black or brown, or maybe a beige for the spring. When I am heading out to visit a client at their home I take particular care to the socks I wear. One does not want to discover that one has decorated feet with obviously faded, or worn out and pilled socks. Or the ultimate horror: holey socks.

Socks are made for comfort as well as for style.

And now there are scented socks. Chenille slipper socks infused with microcapsules of lavender, green tea, eucalyptus, mango, green apple, rosewater, chocolate. I'm thinking that for my massage appointments, I could bring a selection. While my healing hands melt away tension, aromatherapy from my feet wafts upwards.

I'm wearing Eucalyptus. Waiting for my flu to be drawn out though my heavenly scented feet.

from your special newspaper carrier

Got my first Christmas tip last night!

I have around 370 newspaper customers.

That alone requires a lot of Christmas card signing.

My dining table has been cleared.

More warm apple cider is in the crock pot.

The Trans Siberian Orchestra discs are in the cd player.

Two new roller pens are at the ready.

Cards and envelopes are in piles.

a bit of snow would help.....

unglued

The Weather Network declared the temperature to be -7 with windchill when I got up this morning to head out to work. Welcome back windchill. These first few days of winterish weather are, to me, always the hardest to take. I was just getting into the crispy chill, not the downright cold. Then the dreaded word SNOW. It is too soon, I say. Go away.

I have been wearing my trusty waterproof boots for most of the past year (remember the dew on the grass?) and they have held up well, though each time I tie them up, I wonder if the frayed shoelaces will stay intact until I finally get around to replacing them. Then the glue on the right boot started to come come off which wasn't too bad. It gave my foot a rather squared-toed look and was noisy and made me realize I should probably replace the whole thing never mind the laces. Then, about 10 minutes into my night, the glue on the left boot gave up. It made for a rather awkward silly walk as I tried not to trip over my flopping sole. But, I don't live far away so I was able to come back home and because I had cleared up my closet a few weeks ago, knew exactly where my heavy duty winter boots were (because I've not gotten around to replacing my running shoes...I obviously will be shopping later today). Problem solved.

A day or so ago the latch on my car door broke and I've not gotten that fixed either. It hasn't been too bad, but I do need to keep the window rolled down and open the door from the outside in order to get out. Okay, it is a bit of a problem. I did mention that it was a cold -7 with windchill overnight? So I wore my winter jacket with a warm sweatshirt, turned up the heat, opened the vents, aiming the warm air at my hands and left ear. Keeping my coffee hot would be a problem, what with the warm air vents aimed up at me, not down at my cup holder. So I timed it so that I could sit in the parking lot and label all the papers that needed labelling and had room to stack them in order. Still sipping my coffee, I started to stockpile some pre-elastisized papers for tossing. I reached into the box in the back and pulled out a new bag of elastics. Somewhere around the arc of pulling the bag over the passenger seat and onto my lap, the bottom of the bag bursts open. Size 16 elastics spewed out ALL OVER THE CAR. They got into every nook and cranny, front and back, but especially in that inaccessible space between the front seats. For those of you not familiar, size 16 are the little elastics. A 454g bag holds thousands.

I sipped my coffee, surveyed the scene around me. I may even have said a few words. Yes, I definitely said a few choice words. Eventually I carried on, window open, vents on full. I was tempted to slam the car door a few times, but instead, I got out my frustration by making the necessary noise from rustling through the crunchy dead leaves. Somehow, I found that quite gratifying. I drove through a few piles and scuffed at a few and didn't care about the ones that got caught on the laces of my warm boots.

On the upside, none of the snow reached my area.

Now, I am finishing off the last of the mulled cider and there is about enough for one more glass which I will take to bed with my toast and the papers. The comics had better be funny. I need a laugh.