Today I got ride to the Post Office. Nearly three weeks of mail brought more bills than checks. The local tax collector sent me the yearly missive. Or rather one of the local tax collectors. There's still the real estate tax and the school tax and the right to work tax. Not that a bit of the work Mary and I comes from Pennsylvania, let alone this county. We get taxed for working in our home? What if we don't want to work?

The local tax reminder naturally reminded me that the feds will also be wanting their money soon enough, not to mention the states. Or at least more than one state will need tax forms filled out. Things get complicated when you're working for companies all over the country. Too bad the pay isn't commensurate with the complications. At least my boss of the moment can't come knocking at my office door. And whoever he or she may be, in a few weeks, when I start the next contract, it'll be someone different.

Did I mention the automobile insurance is due? I'm sure the insurance company would be delighted to know that the car has been up to its wheel wells in snow for the past two months and highly unlikely to produce a claim. I'm pretty sure I'm not covered for trees falling on the vehicle.

I shuffled some of the snow away from the car and off the hill, down to the surface of the glacier. The warm rays of the spring sun are beating down on the ice even as I type. After shifting the snow I managed to stagger to the propane tank to read the gauge. All I can say is it's lucky the weather's supposed to be warm for the next few days because they only deliver once a week out here. I can't wait to find out what 400 gallons of propane will cost this time.

Still, there also arrived in the mail some orienteering literature and the MS for the new mystery novel with editorial suggestions amended. Spring is definitely here.