Spent a good portion o' the mornin' shoveling my driveway, which was covered in a thick coat of ice that even my best winter shoes slipped on. My goal was to make a path to our mailbox. I should say where our mailbox should have been were it not blown off its post. It's happened a few times this winter, and until we have the time to put up a new box, we've held the current one in place with duct tape. (Thank you, MacGyver.) Mail is, after all, a writer's best friend.
I didn't make it to the mailbox, but I got close enough that the mailman parked his truck and handed me the mail. My work here is done.
A salute to my favorite Irish writers, Jeremiah Healy, Gregory Mcdonald, William Trevor, Ken Bruen, and Robert B. Parker.