Holiday Overload

I have a friend that posts T.G.I.F. on his Facebook page every Friday, without fail. Since, our family doesn’t have what I like to call an artificial schedule — someone else demanding we keep a set schedule, I found the phrase quite arbitrary. It held no emotional significance. Well, all I really have to say in response is…

Thank God it’s Tuesday!

I find most holidays to be more frustrating than being a cause for celebration. We honor men like George Washington for the grand deeds and sacrifices but does the common man have less cause for celebration? It is the rare life that doesn’t hold  a special place in someone’s heart.

Okay, I admit it. The post office really  yanks my chain. They are a for profit business  that gives preferential treatment to the government, all while posing as a quasi government installation. The post office closes for more holidays than any other entity on the planet. (Yes,  I’m sure that is an overly broad generalization but there — I said it anyway.)

I celebrate Tuesday in all it’s glory for returning my mail service. I think the post office should be ashamed of itself for holding up the game. I’ve placed three Amazon orders this week and the post office is dragging it’s feet. The truck drivers are driving day and night to deliver those packages, what makes office workers so fragile that they can’t work weekends?

Wouldn’t it be grand to have a post office that was open 7-days a week? Even the DMV offers late night service, some until 9:00 p.m. The only time the post office stays up late is for tax day. Once again their business gives preferential treatment to another government entity.

Where would we be today if Paul Revere only rode from 9-5 p.m. weekdays? What about the faithful Pony Express riders? What if they demanded coffee breaks, weekends off and per diem?

Thank God it’s Tuesday!!!

All the stores are open. All the people are gone. Yes, I know that is a double-edged sword. It is awesome to see so many people shopping in our small town. Bay area drivers are a little scary. They can’t seem to get the concept of R-E-L-A-X and it shows in their driving habits.

Monday was a not a fun day. I started this article to talk about all that went wrong today but now that I’m here, I think I’ll just let it go and thank God, it’s Tuesday.

Tuesday is full of promise and happy dreams.

Return to Sender

I thought I was the only person who is overly obsessive about spam. I’m talking about the postal kind, not the e-mail type. Years ago I received so much spam in the mail that I actually felt sorry for my postal worker.

Well today as I entered our neighborhood post office a man was standing just inside the door. He looked at me with that deer in the headlight look. I had plainly caught him at something he felt guilty about. He started rambling on about how he knew exactly what to do with junk mail.

I had to chuckle to myself because here was a grown man standing in the post office, stuffing business reply envelopes with the mail he had just received from that particular business. I used to take great pleasure in sending junk mail back to its originator – especially knowing they were paying the freight. It never would have occurred to me, not to take the mail home first. Talk about efficiency.

He stuffed it back in the envelope it came in, calmly walked over to the mailbox and dropped it in. He was my hero today — standing before me looking like the cat that had just eaten the canary. It made me feel like I wasn’t alone in the world – that I actually had some control over my life. It made sense.

Until…

The other shoe dropped.

I had been at the post office early this morning because I knew there was a package waiting for me and I couldn’t wait to get it into my hot little hands. It was the 10th Anniversary Edition of Pride and Prejudice complete with the book, The Making of Pride & Prejudice, one of my all-time favorite movies. As such the mail hadn’t been sorted yet.

So, when Shawn came home this afternoon we had mail.

I need to rest, I’ll finish this story up in a few hours. Check back in the morning. Continued at: Time For Kids?