Care packages

My sister L (SL) sent us a care package, because she is lovely and wonderful. Unlike Australia Post, who, after making one attempt to deliver it when I wasn’t home, whisked it away to a post office in the next suburb over, rather than the one which is a 3-minute walk from my house, and refused to re-deliver. This left me, in my carless state, in a slight quandary as to how I should proceed. I called SL first, for more information.

“How big is it?” I asked.

“Big,” she responded. “Too big to carry on foot, or probably on your bike either.”

Based upon that report, I didn’t particularly feel like trying to wrestle it on to the bus, either, so after further discussion and consideration, I came up with a plan. I borrowed DP’s field pack, packed a box cutter in my handbag, and cycled off up the road. I figured if the box was as big as I feared, I could unpack it at the post office, stuff the contents into the pack, break down the box, and be on my way.

As it turned out, DP’s pack was big enough to contain the box without any box-cutter machinations, thankfully; I wasn’t looking forward to freaking out everyone in the post office. (Or maybe it’s just me who is permanently slightly freaked out by box cutters?)

Note the identifying ribbon – a gift from Miss B. I love thinking about the incongruous places that ribbon has been.

After a somewhat painful but mercifully short ride home with the loaded pack on my back, I extracted the box from the pack and tore into on the kitchen table.

 

And, lest anyone think that I harbor any delusions about presenting myself here as a foodie or food snob of any description, allow me to share with you what SL knew – without asking – we would really, really want to get.

 

Hope your weekend is filled with all the things you like best.