Life is full of little annoyances. We encounter them, feel mistreated by them, decide to carry on or alternately attend to them, and they're forgotten until the next time something similar erupts to interrupt our placid daily events, mostly anticipated and welcomed.

Yesterday when we set out for our ravine walk with our two little dogs we realized belatedly that the municipal snow plow had been around. And from the look of the mound at the foot of our driveway that sweep through our street hadn't been a recent one. Usually we're attentive to the sound of the plow going through, and usually it's in the aftermath, the recent aftermath, of a new snowstorm.

This time the plow went through long after the snow had fallen, to push the slush off the street toward the edges of the road, and of course, to line people's driveways with it. This was done obviously the day before, which had been relatively mild. And we hadn't noticed. It had been a busy day and we'd been out earlier in the day, not later.

Since then the temperature had dropped markedly and what had been slush turned to firm snow and ice, and mostly ice, solidly impervious to shovelling. Because our house is located at the turn of the street, we tend to get more than 'our share' of such deposits. And because although it wasn't dreadfully high, it was unevenly mounded and as such a nuisance that required to be hacked away, which was what my husband did on our return from the ravine.

Last evening I placed a half-cup of dried yellow peas in a small bowl to soak overnight preparatory to plans to prepare a vegetable pea soup for this evening's dinner. A cutting board that I had propped against the counter backsplash slipped and banged against the bowl, sending it and its contents everywhere in the kitchen. Good for a lusty bit of cursing.

When, later, we settled down together to view a video we'd taken from the local library, we remembered we'd already seen it at some time in the near distant past, but couldn't be bothered getting up to change it, just comfortable sitting there. But it did point out to us that no actor, regardless his/her merit, seems beyond the allure of lending talent to a third-grade film if it pays well enough, even if they're critically acclaimed Shakespearean stage actor Sir Kenneth Branagh.

Perspective helps to adjust one's mode of thought. Recalling the day's news, for example, of the plight of refugees, of people living in war zones, in incessant poverty, of concerns over the global effects of climate change, for example. And then those little annoyances become the petty foils of a comfortable few through which to express dissatisfaction with their lives. As in gimmeabreak.