I’m not sure why I find it so comforting seeing him arrive in his pick-up truck so as to deliver milk to the couple we call Hank and Deidre. I think it must be the regularity of it, though usually he comes in the early hours, his miner’s torch clamped over his baseball cap. I remember milkmen in floats, and the gentle whirring sound of their motors. And then there was the one would come in a horse and cart, deliver to Nanny C.. I loved the sound of the hooves and the clink of bottles. Such detail helps. Always.
