The planet Jupiter glows,
dangling in the dark sky ahead as I make my way home. The front seat beside me
is full; my shoulder bag, two bottles of red wine, a big box of coffee beans
and a soft parcel, the latter two picked up at the post office in the
afternoon. The back seat too is full, of things I mean to get rid of and
haven’t yet: books, clothing, sundry. On the floor are two 10-litre jugs of water; always have three days worth of drinking water on hand, they say, in
case of a storm or something. I try.
Still half a mile from our yard,
I can see lights moving outside our back step. Scott is there with the tractor,
pushing snow. I turn in and two big dogs meet my car; they have followed the
tractor over from the other place. The ponderous machine holds back out of the
way while I drive right up to the step, and then it heads out the driveway and
down the road. The dogs stay a few minutes to see what’s what and to be petted
before, one at a time, they disappear.
|A bagful of goodies|
I carry in my bag and the wine,
and let our own dogs out. It’s icy and I pick my way carefully between car and
porch. A second trip gets the coffee and parcel in. A third sees the water jugs
set on the snow near the car, and then I back the car off the snow-buried lawn
and park it for the night. The grid road calls me out and down the driveway
before I return to the house, walking right past the water jugs in its shadow.
It’s not till my coat and ski pants are hung up and my boots are off that I
realize the jugs are still outside. I pull on a pair of boots and a jacket and
go get them.
|A rainbow of bright tops|
And now I can relax. The shoulder
bag and parcel go to the office. The coffee and wine go to the kitchen. The
water jugs are lined up next to the kitchen door. I tear off my bra and put on
my pyjamas. It’s been a long day, a 10-hour one, and now there’s nothing more
that needs to be done. I ate a bun with a slice of ham at the office when we
were still working at suppertime, so I’m not hungry yet, even though it’s
already eight o’clock. I pour myself a glass of that wine.
Ahhhh. Meryl Streep is in a movie on TV. If she really does all her own singing and playing in that movie, I'm impressed. And then there is loot, to boot ... before going to bed, I tackle the parcel Joan sent. I'm a wee girl at Christmas and have held myself off this long, and now ... voila! jewellery and clothes and a pretty bag, just what delights this wee girl. How did zat seeester know?
|Love this necklace|
Thanks Joan. You arrr zee besta!
|And this is barely the half of it. What fun I'm having, admiring it all.|