Ah, little did I know how much the mysterious and persistent thumping would disrupt
the house and my next few weeks. I finally did pull myself away from the
computer—What was I doing? Editing something? Doing layout? Reading
about turk’s-head knots on the web? Taking a break by checking Nake-Id Knits or Yarn Harlot?—and go look.
A familiar brown truck had pulled up at the curb and an
energetic-looking guy dressed in matching shorts and shirt was jogging back
down the driveway. To my right just outside the front door sat a pile of
eighteen medium-sized cartons. Our big deliveries usually come on a bright
yellow truck. They usually arrive between five and seven days business after
they’re shipped, not two.
I walked toward the truck to catch the driver, who was
looking from the front area into the back, through the big opening that
connected the two, and shoving something heavy around.
“Are there any more?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said, looking like he’d just gotten his day’s
exercise. “That’s it!”
“Bang on the door next time,” I said. “We have a hand truck,
and we usually help with the deliveries! I didn’t expect these until at least Friday!”
“Sure will,” he said. “See you later.” And drove off. I
wondered what else he’d have to deliver today.
And I knew that the rest of my day would not go according to
plan. My days never follow the lists I make, but this one was about to take a
hard detour in a new direction. And by the time I got back to the task I’d left on my desk, I wouldn’t remember what it was.