Ran out for a few quick errands in the what-seems-to-be-sudden cruel coldness of December mornings. After walking up the street to bring my newly-released from her leg casted neighbor to bring in her paper, mail, and trash can, I realized that while my lightweight jacket was fine, my fingertips froze to the full agonizing degree of immediate frostbite. But I’m a fast learner when it comes to pain, and I at least dug out a pair of gloves before I took off in the car.
First stop, the campus, where I found this 
waiting for me, having taking advantage of my Texas connections, and he his, since Willie wouldn’t return my calls.
Then on to my new mall–the Big Lots store–where I needn’t feel guilty buying artichoke hearts and pimentos and such at their prices. Unfortunately, they didn’t have artichoke hearts or pimentos, nor the lightbulbs or jalapenos or parmesan cheese. I bought two boxes of tissues.
Heading home as the heater thawed me out, I counted the articles of clothing I wore, dressed as I was for a day in my barn/shop. Fourteen. And that’s without a hat or bra.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology