Memory Lane is Becoming Potholed!

Since the Post Office won't deliver to our physical address, for us collecting mail means a trip into town. But town is 20 miles away, so unless we are expecting something really important, mail is collected infrequently, whenever we happen to be in the area for some other purpose.

We carry a cloth bag in the car for this because, as you can imagine, when we do empty out our P. O. box it's often quite a load. And once we get home it's my job to empty the bag onto the table and sort the mail. All the addresses are stripped off for shredding, stuff to be dealt with is set aside to go out to my computer desk, magazines are stacked to go out to The Van for later reading, and the rest is destined for the recycling trailer.

That leaves the newspapers for last. Our little town paper is published twice a week so there will usually be between 2 and 6 papers to read. Not that it takes all that long since each paper consists of 3 to 4 sections, each section 4 to 8 pages long.

Today I had 3 papers, it was cold outside, and it was raining, so when I finished sorting the mail, which includes stacking the newspapers in reverse order so the oldest in on top, I wasn't motivated to do much of anything else other than sit right there and read them. When I finished I had a stack of papers for the recycling trailer, three address labels for the shredder, and two magazines I hadn't yet carried out to The Van.

I put on my jacket, grabbed my hat, (cold and rainy and all.) picked it all up, and stepped out into the barn. When I got there, a whole 3 steps later, I had the address labels in one hand for shredding, the papers in the other for the recycling trailer, but couldn't find the two magazines.

I stepped back into the living quarters, but no magazines laying there on the table. I shuffled through the newspapers but apparently hadn't stuck the magazines in there either. I even checked the drawer where I keep one magazine handy for 'inside' reading, but they weren't there either.

What the heck?!! I know there was a couple magazines in the mail. What did I do with them?! They have to be somewhere. I double checked the newspapers again and took an extra peek inside the drawer; then I found them, tucked right there under my arm where I had put them in the first place. . .