Power has been restored to the senior citizens and I got to leave the house. My meeting was canceled because SHE couldn’t leave her house. But I got stuff done. Like, ya know, mailing my grocery list. See, here’s what I do. I save up old envelopes over there by the stove, and I write on the backs of them. Recycling AND reusing. (Happy Birthday Karen, who invented this idea.) So I write the bunch of errands I need to run, and also jot down the things I need to pick up at the store, foodwise. When I buy something small (which I did today) I put it INSIDE the envelope and fold over the end. I am double recycling this way. Problem is, when I went to drop the bills and Karen’s card into the blue box, oops, the list went in too. Obviously didn’t want to miss out on anything. I just stood there, like Tony Shaloub’s character Monk, peeking back in, like it would what? come back out because I made a mistake? I now have a fancy cellular calling device (Solstice gift from devoted spouse and offspring), so I used it. Called the number on the box. This led me to several rounds of voice mail and eventually a very nice person named Lisa who gave me yet another number to call. Which then led me to another very nice person (who’s name could have been Bill, or Phil, or possibly Will) and he said I should just come back when they pick up what’s in that box. Duh! In the meantime, I had to go into the grocery store completely unprepared. (I forgot several items, but had to come back later anyway.) I went back at the appointed time (left a smidge early, just in case), and about five minutes after when the pick up should have been made (which I thought was not bad, considering the weather) there was the truck. I met the nice man (who’s name I did not find out) and explained my idiocy. He plowed through the mail as he shoved it into his little carry tote and ta da there it was. He told me that this actually happens a lot. He has someone waiting next to a box for ‘personal items’ several times a week! Of course he warned me (kindly and very politely) that if this had been real live mail I wanted back, I couldn’t have it, once it drops into that blue box, it is no longer mine. But ‘personal items’ – like my twice recycled list with some embroidery floss and valuable pieces of cardboard inside, or maybe keys, phones, jewelery, bank deposits – those he will hand over, no problem. I learned so much. When I called my mother to tell how stupid her eldest child was, she said ‘oh I’ve done that!’ Somehow, I was not surprised.