Up in the Air
The weight of winter, broken toes, and boxes gone rogue.
Saturday Morning
It’s cold here in PA. The kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes your teeth chatter even under layers of fleece. I know—it’s still winter. But I am so over it. Winter coats, hats, scarves, mittens, snow boots. The current uniform of my life. And if the morning dusting is any indication, it’s not changing anytime soon.
Don’t get me wrong—I’m not a fan of August’s scorching heat either. But these 20s and 30s? The constant snow? Over it. Yes, I still love photographing snow, making snow angels, building a snowman (or ten), and feeding the birds while they hop across the frosted deck. But shoveling it? Done. That joy expired somewhere around storm number three. I’ve moved on—in my mind at least—to gardening, flowers, and the warm kiss of the sun on my face. And snow has no place in that mindset.
This morning, I ran out to UPS to mail a few packages from my blog sale. Eighteen degrees and flurries. Ugh. If I hadn’t promised to ship today, I’d have stayed home, caught up on everything piling up, and rested my sore foot. But one errand turned into four, all while hobbling around on broken toes.
February 16
A couple of weeks ago, I shared on my Instagram (not the B&BW one) that I wasn’t feeling well—high blood pressure, pain radiating from my ear to my jaw, and a general sense that something wasn’t right. After a flurry of tests and a referral to an ENT, everything came back fine, which should be good news—but instead leaves me with no answers. That seems to be a trend in my life.
The ENT gave me ear drops and scheduled a follow-up. Six days of waiting with ear pain wasn’t ideal, but now I’m focusing on the stress side of things. Because my plate? It’s full. Overfull.
March 1
Let’s talk about the broken toes.
Earlier this week, I made the mistake of walking barefoot into a dark bedroom and smacked the steel bed leg right between two toes. I heard the crack. Shouted it, too, when my husband asked what happened. I’ve broken toes before, and it’s never fun. Just inconvenient. This time it’s the metatarsal and first joint on my left foot. The swelling’s impressive—I’ll spare you the photo (ha!). Let’s just say walking without putting weight on them is…tricky.
Gnomes and Stress – March 4
I had plans to post some of my handmade clay fairy garden gnomes this week, but I had to wait for smaller boxes to arrive so I could ship them affordably through first class mail. With shipping costs on Mercari rising again, this detail matters.
I ordered a stack of boxes from Sam’s Club, expecting them on Wednesday. After a rough morning getting the car inspected—which took three hours and $500 for “just one shock”—I tracked the package while sipping iced green tea and trying to calm my nerves.
But the boxes weren’t there.
Cue the security footage. UPS had delivered them Tuesday at 4:05 p.m. The video confirmed it—there he was, placing them off to the side of the porch. So where did they go?
I kept watching and found the answer two hours later. They disappeared. I’ve been burglarized before—it’s traumatic. I’ve had porch thefts. But who steals a stack of empty boxes?
Turns out, it was my mail carrier. I contacted the Post Office, and the Postmaster answered with a tone that told me this was going to be fun. Defensive at first—until I said four magic words: I have the video.
Suddenly, the tone changed. No more “how do you know” or “our carriers don’t do that.” The footage spoke for itself.
She told me if the package was taken, it was now “in the mail system.” Except…how? It was delivered via UPS with my name on it. It wasn’t outgoing mail, it wasn’t scanned, and it certainly wasn’t hers to take.
Ten hours later, the boxes were back on my porch with a thud. The Postmaster left a message saying the issue had been addressed, and I was welcome to speak to the carrier directly if I wanted.
I didn’t. I heard the boxes hit the porch, curled up on the couch, and for the first time in a long time—took a nap. A real one.
My doctor reminded me recently: my plate is too full. And she’s right. Between work, running my blog, taking care of my father-in-law, managing a household, navigating health stuff, and now dealing with mail—sometimes life feels like a teeter-totter tilted out of control.
And I’m the one up in the air, legs kicking, hoping I don’t come crashing down.