I missed the FedEx driver.

Came home from dinner with the Empty Nesters last night (crab and corn soup, duck on rice, both very tasty) to find a sticky-note on the storm door from FedEx. So I sent an email to the office manager and SemperFi (because I do not yet have my new attorney’s email memorized) and left a voicemail for the receptionist and my new attorney, letting them know that I would be in after making a quick run to FedEx for a package pickup.

Unless I miss my guess, this would be the package of drafts for the insurance policy, one day before I was going to have to write a check for the mortgage out of my primary checking account. I have more than enough funds to do that, but a limited supply of temporary checks, and I haven’t taken the time to order new checks.

I am nearly to the bottom of the stack of cards and letters that have poured in since Beloved’s death. I had to print off a fresh sheet of return address labels and break open the third box of note cards. I have done a much better job of keeping up with this than I did after we got married last year. We had two Christmas cards that we had not sent out, to the elders serving foreign missions from our ward, because Beloved had wanted to insert a personal note. I wrote those notes this morning, and the cards will go out today.

I am starting to make serious progress on StellaLuna. I worked on it a bit last night while watching and/or listening to one of the episodes from season three which I watched on PBS a couple of weeks ago. I am planning for a quiet evening at home, more knitting, a load or two of laundry, and maybe catching up to the broadcast I missed on Sunday night. I am hoping for sufficient self-discipline not to watch ahead and spoil the rest of the season for myself. I think I can: there are two boxes of Girl Scout cookies in my sock drawer, where they have been for two and a half weeks, unopened, demonstrating that I do have a modicum of patience. If only a modicum.

Time to log off, pack my lunch, and take one last bag of trash out to the can, which I set out on the curb last night. I love trash day. Not so much the schlepping of cans to the curb and back, but the sense that at least one day a week, I am making inroads upon the chaos that is mortality.