Well, so — today thus far.
Since I had a return to make to eBags, and, as was established on Monday, there is no public FedEx drop-off in the Waterville environs save a self-serve box too small to take the parcel that was being returned. . .deep breath. . .this morning I drove twenty miles to nearest manned — or, in this case womanned — FedEx office, in the Great City of Augusta, and got rid of the damned box.
That accomplished, I stopped at the Augusta edition of Staples and bought a USB stick/thumb-drive/whatevertheheck they’re called this week. It is, in fact, slightly smaller than my thumb (my previous stick was as long as my forefinger) 16 gigs for $15 — almost a buck a gig! — while the former stick packed a whopping 128 megs and cost somewhere in the vicinity of fifty clams.
What an age we live in.
Those two minor errands accomplished, I headed back to Waterville, aiming for the post office, the drug store, the grocery store, and the Cat Farm, in that order, driving happily through the grey, damp day, singing along with Warren Zevon, when suddenly! without warning! the car began making a Horrible, Horrible Noise.
Yeah, the muffler had come uncoupled and was dangling by a slender thread.
I made it to Mr. Smith’s repair emporium in a roar of, err, power, checked Binjali in — hey, he needs to be inspected this month, anyway, right? — called Steve to come get me, as Mr. Smith can’t get to repairs until tomorrow — and we did the rest of the errands together, which was nice, but unplanned.
So, home now, and doing catch-up, since tomorrow we’re needed down-coast on bidness of the house. And! I just realized that, if that bidness goes forth, I’m going to have to learn how to cook.
Oops.
But enough about me!
You may not know that today is a very special day. Indeed! Today is the day that my neighbor in Bangor, Mr. “James A. Burton” sees his book Powers published by Prime Books. Available at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and all the Usual Suspects. Check it out; you won’t be sorry.