I asked myself a hundred times why putting something —  even a three-foot tall air cooler — back into its original box could possibly defy every blessed effort.  After an hour, I finally texted my neighbor Macrina.  She had the whole reboxing done and the unit in the back of my car within three minutes.  I tried not to feel inadequate as I thanked her and got ready to drive into Lodi.

The little gaggle of customers at the UPS store stood in a vague line staring at the red-headed clerk and a flustered woman with chalk on the back of her pants.  I occupied the enviable position of next to be helped, but the boy kept shuffling between a computer to one side and the counter, earnestly conversing with the lady as her hair drifted from a loose ponytail.  I contemplated the two-wheeler standing by the back wall, figuring  the odds of my navigating the box from my car without costing myself a two-hundred dollar refund.

Two more customers swung through the door, stopping cold at the sight of us.  I grew increasingly concerned about asking the store employee for help with six other people waiting and him clearly alone.  I turned and announced that I needed to get a large box inside, and wondered if anyone might assist.  The guy behind me, big, burly, with a small package balanced on his foot, looked down and over at something fascinating just beneath the parcel.

“I’d be glad to help,” I heard, and sought the face of the volunteer.  A pudgy man, who looked as though he might be only slightly more capable than I am, grinned at me.  Out at the car, he hoisted my package  onto his shoulder.  I recalculated my opinion of him as I dashed over to the entrance just as the lady who had been in front of me emerged.

A few minutes later, I headed towards the drugstore, grateful for the absolute ease of the return process.  I tucked the receipt into my glove compartment at a red light, turned east, and starting looking for the CVS.  As I drove, I had a sickening recollection of my new ATM card sitting on the desk in my writing loft.  I shook my head.  Up, down; good, bad; easy, hard.  I did not have the energy to go into the bank to make my deposit.  It would have to wait for the next trip into town.

I caught sight of my eyes in the rear view mirror as I parked.  My head fell forward onto the steering wheel.  I sat completely still for the span of three long breaths.  It’s going to be all right, I whispered.  Everything is going to be all right.  I resisted the temptation to recite a litany of those items as to which the outcome remained hauntingly uncertain.

On the way back to the island, I made an illegal turn into a Starbucks drive-through.  Sometimes I just need a tall Americano.  I nursed the drink over both bridges and onto the levy road.  I turned Neko Case louder as I made my way between the shimmering river and the wide stretches of summer cropland.

It’s the second day of the fifty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining.  Life continues.

NEKO CASE:  “CALLING CARDS”