Anyone who has spent any time around ol’ Robbo knows of his hobbit-like fondness for the routine and predictable, and his dislike of the random and chaotic.  This extends to just about every aspect of his existence, including life’s irritations.

Thus, as I was out yesterday morning clearing the driveway of the six or seven inches of heavy, wet snow we got Wednesday night, I suddenly said to myself, “Self, something is not right!”  And looking about, I realized what it was:  Despite the fact that the snow plows had been churning up and down the street all night…….the mailbox was still on its post!  

When I saw it sitting there, its little red flag flying like that of a miniature Fort McHenry, I found myself curiously torn.  On the one hand, I was pleased that it had survived the night.  On the other, a certain part of me felt that this couldn’t as a genuine Snow Event™ without me finding the box and its crosspieces on the ground, the nails twisted about in fantastic shapes.

Thus bemused, I toddled off to the office.

Now mind you, by the time I left the port-swiller household mid-morning, the storm had long gone.  The sun was out and the snow was melting.  It’s true that the road still had ice all over it and that the plows were still working, but visibility was crystal-clear.

I assume that by now you know where this is all headed.  Upon my return to the old homestead in the evening, I discovered…… the box and its crosspieces on the ground, the nails twisted about in fantastic shapes.   And as an added bonus, not only was the mailbox on the ground, but so was an important tax document that had been in the box but was liberated when the plow took it out.

Circle, meet complete.

As I once again repaired the box this morning, risking life and limb by turning my back to traffic so that I could nail it up,  I felt that curious juxtaposition of sensations:  On the one hand, I was thoroughly annoyed.  On the other, it was a familiar annoyance, and thus somehow comforting.