The Wells-Fargo Wagon (aka UPS) snuck up here yesterday. Neither Bess nor I heard the truck, but I found a package on the front step in the afternoon. A couple of packages have arrived in the mail this past week. Does anyone ever get over that childish thrill of a surprise? I hope not. I've set them aside to let the anticipation build.
Bessie Anne does like to go with me down to the big road on trash day. I feel pretty bad for her on these cold days when I lift her up to ride shotgun and she has to sit her little bum on that icy seat. We sat together in the predawn dark at the corner and waited for Trash Guy. I had a little "something" for him. Years ago, I could have taped it to the lid, secure in the knowledge that it would be considered sacrosanct. Now, not so much, and it was better to put it in his hand. Engine running and heater blasting, the truck was warmer than the house at that hour, and I read Christmas cards out loud to Bess while we waited. Trash Guy works hard at a solitary job...it's little enough to say thank you once a year.
There was a tiny tragedy in the barn later. I always lay empty buckets on their side because mice are prone to falling in. When the bucket for used diaper wipes is empty, I put a piece of broom handle in so the small creatures have a way out. Evidently the little guy I found dead yesterday was too tiny to climb the stick, or maybe it was just too cold alone. I know that one less mouse in the world doesn't amount to a hill of beans, unless it is to that mouse's family. And to me.
In the afternoon, I worked at (and completed) a secret project. Now if I could just get going on the multitude of other things that need to be done.