The day before yesterday the bell of my Bavarian flat rung - I pressed the button - nobody came up - so I went downstairs and saw the stoplights of a white van.
A deliveryman had dumped a heavy parcel in front of the house - ah! the potting soil I had ordered. I just had my influenza virus vaccination - thus I abstained from carrying that parcel up to the second floor (I happily do weight training again since two months and think I might have been able to carry those 45 litre - but then: my back is a bit touchy - thus I let the parcel where it was).
Next day the parcel stood in the hall - yesterday I asked the young forest ranger from the flat downstairs whether he had put it inside - no, but could he carry it up for me? "Oh, wonderful!" (I had corrected the Master thesis of his girlfriend, thus now I know a lot now about "The Economic Value of Wood from Little Private Woods") and thought I could accept his offer.
The forest ranger is the only person the triplets REALLY respect. He drives a huge pick-up, AND a "John Deere" (the girls, though just three years old, can tell you most car make that passes by, and all tractor makes - a valuable foundation for life :-)
Now I need a fine day to plant the rose Avalanche into a huge container.
Query: If I tell you about such an everyday event - is that ok - or do you start to yawn? I would know about that!