It comes in glass and metal

No plastic.
No paper.

We are getting milk delivered again!

It is with giddy expectation that I pad down the stairs and out the door to experimentally heft a cooler we leave on the porch. More often than not, the box is heavy with fresh milk and cream. Maybe a dozen eggs. Maybe a pound of butter so delicious I eat it with a spoon. Maybe a frozen chuck roast. Maybe ice cream.

In Michigan, our milkman was often late. Pierced and tattooed, he brought biscuits for the dogs and left us a newsletter ("The Moo News") with our bill printed on the back. He was just lovely, but late! How can one lure one's spouse from bed if there are only empties - no cream for her coffee?

But not here!

We are on a new route, so they've told me. Did it have to do with my saddened silence on the phone? I am crediting my moping with bringing us Fresh! Milk!

A new route, so he comes first thing.

The cream comes early, but I still let her sleep.