When I was a boy, we had milk delivered to our doorstep, as did many families. However, we lived on a hill, with a steep, gravel driveway cut alongside the house. A ponderous dairy truck, with lights ablaze in the predawn darkness, would grind laboriously up that slippery grade, only to drop off a couple of bottles of milk before tediously backing into position to begin its equally challenging descent. It seems kind of surreal to think about now.