Breakfast, a Letter, and Trash

Picked Aline up at our usual 9:15 and we went to Dockside.  We hadn't been there for several months, but they had advertised a $3.99 breakfast and I wanted to compare it to John & Sonia's and Dynasty.
It was actually pretty good; we both had omelets with diced pork roll, cheese, and onions, plus hash browns.  Coffee was included, so with tip, it came to five bucks.  Good, but we always laugh over the fact that at Dynasty, you get juice, too.
Went to the water after--Graveling Point was crowded with cars  (maybe some kind of fishing season just started), so I drove to secluded Ocean Boulevard.  After fifteen or so of enjoying the view, I dropped A. off after making a date for a "teatime" presentation at the Tuckerton branch this evening. Went home and cleared out the jammed packed left-side drawer.  I have too much of everything, that's a cinch.
Drove to the P.O. to send papers to Singapore, only to find there was a power outage and it was closed.  Went to the Tuckerton branch.
Called Betty to invite her to Rumors on Sunday, the play in Brigantine in which Grey is appearing.  She accepted and Muckie will probably come, too.
Came across a condolence letter sent to my mother after my father's death in 1950.  It's from Ada Astle, whose daughter, Susan, was a childhood friend of mine.  Mr. Astle was with the U.S. Embassy in Paraguay; not sure what the circumstances were for them to live in Ventnor for a time; maybe he had been between assignments. Anyway, Susan was an early soul-mate type of friend and I remember being devastated when they left.  Ada referenced a letter from me to Susan, so we kept in touch, at least for a time, after they moved.  Now I'm determined to track her down and have started my investigative work to that end.  
As I try to do every day, I added physical work to the mental and errand-running chores: For a month or more, I had been partly annoyed, partly disgusted by a fairly large heap of rotting leaves, dirt, and yellow "keep off" tape in the gutter at the end of my street.  It wasn't really near my place--I'm nine houses away from that corner--but it had been there for weeks and was very unsightly.  I guess I could have called the lawn service, but I dislike the hint of lady of the manor imperiousness: "you're my servant and you do the dirty work."
I decided it certainly wouldn't hurt me to do it myself, so I did.
I lined a good-sized cardboard box with a trash bag and put it in the car along with the broom and long-handled dust pan I use in the garage.  Wouldn't you know, the wind was blowing up practically a hurricane, so it wasn't the best time to do it, but I was determined. Three times I drove up there, shoveled the debris in, then drove back to dump it in the trash.  There were other unpleasant items under the leaves, including two water bottles and pieces of glass, but of course, I wore gloves and had no problem.
I got a lot of satisfaction out of that.