Getting on for three weeks since last your intrepid correspondent ventured into town. Not much has changed, it was the Fire Engine with the rubber boat on top's turn to get its rub down, probably getting all excited about duck hunting season in a couple of months time, or possibly anticipating a lost toddler from Ohio on the Green River Lake. And your correspondent was as usual picked on by the traffic lights, they always look as though they're going to turn red, and if your correspondent decides they're not going to turn red, they do turn red, so by the time he's reached the fourth traffic light that part of his mind which seems to have devoted itself entirely to traffic lights is a little on edge which can result in the more impatient road user feeling obliged to honk their vehicle's horn and there can be stuff like glaring and the odd gesture which does make your correspondent wonder a little about why he bothered to shave and dress up in his town clothes, but fortunately his parking spot at the Post Office was unoccupied which is always a sweet comfort in troubled times.
Some years ago, following a command decision in the upper reaches of Post Office
Management, there was an attempt to eradicate the Saint John's Wort that graced
the ornamental border on either side of the Post Office front entrance. Despite
its tenaciousness as a ground cover and it's joyful yellow bloom that plant has
been declared an invasive menace as well as a danger to livestock by Wall Street
agricultural interests. The plant did hold on for a good long time, but sadly
it's stronghold in the border at the Post Office has been finally vanquished,
and you can be pretty damned sure it wasn't a Gardner sweating against Plant
type vanquishing it was more like Industrial Chemical type vanquishing, a form
of cheating that really does put the kybosh on any notion of decency and honor.
Naturally your correspondent did the right thing in the Grocery Store. He
sneered at the job stealing self checkout and went directly to the regular
checkout so he could line up behind a mother with coupons, and with an
incredibly aggravating three old, for about ten minutes, so his packet of wide
mouth ball jar lids might get its Have a Nice Day.