The garage has been decluttered of at least a year’s accumulation of cardboard boxes, all carefully flattened as per municipal ordinance and inserted into the approved blue bins. With them went all manner of plastic and styrofoam packing materials, enough to fill a bin liner to full stretch. I kept exactly two sturdy book-size boxes and a carton full of styrofoam packing peanuts.

Now I’m tired out, asprawl with the cat in the comfy chair with Astor Piazzola (El Mestro del Tango) piped into my ears from iTunes. I had intended to go to pool class today, having ceased to be a threat to the commonweal, but I coughed half the night and I’m obviously not ready for anything even vaguely resembling real exercise.

It’s a fine, steamy day in southwestern Ontario. When I have recombobulated enough to face a shower, I will sally forth to the post office with a box bound for Toronto. The box contains a heck of a lot of packing peanuts and three crystal wine glasses, each with a flea-bite chip in the rim. Yes, I finally found a person who repairs crystal! And of course she’s in Toronto, where I strongly prefer not to go in person. So fingers crossed.