P.O.

I have the perfect post office. Being a person who loves mail, this is a fortunate circumstance.

My post office is the size of a stamp. Not many of us postal patrons can fit in the lobby at one time; fortunately, there aren’t many people in Cleveland, WI 53015, and we just don’t choose to go to the post office all at the same time.

I’m sure the average New Yorker, or any big city dweller, would give a week’s wages to have a post office like mine. Even at Christmas, we never have to wait in long lines. Granted, we might encounter a neighbor or two, but standing forever in a queue of grumpy strangers just doesn’t happen here. The situation is akin to having your own personal post office.

One glitch did present itself when we first moved up here. I ran over to the post office around noon to mail a letter and found the doors locked. The postmaster had gone home for lunch. The postmaster goes home for lunch every day, a real anachronism in today’s America. I might apply for this job.

Naturally, blessings like an incredible post office don’t come without responsibilities. Little P.Os live or die based on the volume of mail they process. You will be getting snail mail from me frequently. I must do my part and keep the mail flowing at 53015. Hundreds and hundreds of Valentine, Easter, Halloween, Christmas and birthday cards are among my outgoing contributions. My twenty-three magazine subscriptions insure the incoming flow.

I can only think of one feature my post office lacks. (Anyone who has read Rita Mae Brown’s charming mysteries, ghost written by her brown tabby cat, Mrs. Murphy, will know what’s coming.) My post office doesn’t have a resident cat or dog.

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  1. I posted a comment and it disappeared. Almost like that post office, if you are not looking for it . That town is my “ancestral town” so I visit it often, as I still have relatives there, in town, where you can see the lake from the front door, if you lean just so.

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