Oh my. How time flies. It was so, so many years ago that I was this age... running up the steps to the post office to stand in wonder at the many, magical Post Office boxes... each numbered, each individual, holding rows and rows of little personal letters and treasures - just waiting for the turn of one teeny-tiny marked key.
We never had a P.O. Box ourselves, - but the wonder of it all was a world of possibility, like a little capsule of the unknown... or the long-anticipated.
Of course, then, staring dreamily at these precious little boxes, my youthful, green eyes would wander toward the counter, - the perfect counterbalance to the big, imaginative world of personal correspondence. Over there, was the seemingly perfect 'system' for making it all flow. The rows and rows of boxes awaiting assembly, the little individual stamps and papers indicating 'fragile', 'air mail' - or 'sign for delivery'... the clean white bags-on-wheels just behind the counter, waiting to take each parcel to its unique destination. And, of course, the proudly displayed stamps... in a frame, just out of touch, showcasing the numerous sizes and styles, each holding the promise and knowledge that the more you stick on, the further away your package can go... yes, I dare say, - to places unknown. Oh, yes, - Places Unknown, - lest I forget the PASSPORT window... to me, a 'Land of Oz' curtain, - before my very eyes.
Now that I'm older, I see the lines. I shift there, irritated with the molasses-like movement behind the counter, frustrated with the amount of junk mail that dominates my experience with the Post. BUT, when I bring the boys... well, I remember. And, OH, thank goodness I do.
On this particular day, the boys and I were mailing a package to Mammy - a Thank You book for the super beach vacation we had spent with her, - and a Thanksgiving Banner, modeled after the one I had just made for home. Henry, especially, was so excited to give it to her, almost dancing up the steps and into line to hand his precious package, trustingly, over the counter... with the utmost confidence that this envelope holding his very important artwork and love notes would make it right to the place it was designed to be.
... When I was young, everyone I knew lived right there in my town. It was rare we sent or received mail to or from some far-off place. I remember vividly, though, the day my aunt and uncle sent me a coconut from Hawaii. It didn't even come in a package... the tag hung right off the top, stapled somehow on the inside, like one over-sized, hairy grenade. Picking it up from the Post Office that day was... Momentous. So, here's to you, dear Post Office, - for the possibilities, memories, and loved ones you help us remember.
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