Mail Call

From the window by my desk, I can look out on the bank of mailboxes lined up in one neat row for the residents of the park. There are 80 boxes although I do not think there are eighty houses. If I happen to be working at the computer around mid-day, I might see the white mail truck arrive and the postal worker filling each slot with handfuls of letters and magazines and ads for all manner of things.

But sometimes I miss the mailman, so I look out when I hear a car door slam as a neighbor stops and opens one of the boxes. If that person gets back in the car with a stack of mail, I stop for a moment and go to retrieve mine. I walk across the street although I seem to be the only one who does. Most everyone drives to the boxes or stops on their way coming or going.

It is just a few steps for me and a welcome change from the trip I made by car when I lived in Osceola. The post office there was one of several stops on my morning errands when I picked up the Kansas City Star, stopped at Carney’s Five Star Market, dropped by the library to check out some magazines or went to the bank. Princess would accompany me on those trips. We went every day, rain or shine, but on Sunday only the grocery and the newspaper box were on our route. On our last days there, we stopped each day to pick up empty boxes in which to pack our worldly goods for the trip here.

Now my daily Oregonian is delivered to my door and I bank online. I also go to the library online to check out the catalog, put a hold on a book (I’m 10th in line for The Jury Master by Robert Dugoni), and check for upcoming events. I shop for groceries once a week. I could get my groceries online as well, as Albertson’s has a delivery service. I would rather go myself as I am eating mostly fresh food these days and I want to pick out my own.

The fact that I don’t go out on errands every day has changed the rhythm of my life and I am more prone to lollygagging around the house in the mornings. Especially since the Pacific Northwest weather is conducive to curling up inside. This is when the creative muse visits me, and I feel most ideas for writing floating to the top. Afternoons I get out with the dogs, read my current book (today it is Waxwings by Jonathan Raban), watch a little TV (the Masters Golf Tournament is on this week), knit or nap.

Now as I write this I see that the mail is here. What will it bring today? Most of my correspondence with friends is by e-mail, but on rare occasions I receive a note or a card from a friend. There might be brochures from groups I belong to or the neighborhood weekly. Maybe a magazine or something I have ordered. No checks expected, although there could always be a surprise. As soon as I find my keys, I’ll find out.