Tag Archives: post office

Incendio!

I had to mail two packages at the post office today and noticed a book of Harry Potter stamps behind the counter.

They’re so pretty.

harrypotterstamps
harrypotterstamps2

So, of course I bought some.

(I knew you’d want to, too.)

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Starting the day right

My neighborhood streets were so quiet this morning. Rory and I only saw two delivery men and another man walking his dog.  The hustle and bustle of New York City?

Not on Labor Day.

So I noticed little things I normally miss.

horsedoormanThis little guy guards the entrance to an apartment building near my post office.  I’ve walked this path for five years, and this is the first time he has caught my eye.

(As a Kentucky native, I am especially embarrassed to admit this.)

 

 

 

TylerwashereMy friend Dick sits on this stoop most afternoons. Rory and I stop by and catch up on the neighborhood gossip during our walks.

Apparently Tyler chatted with Dick yesterday, too.

 

bloomsAnd these blooms were hanging on a tree on my street.

A nice end to a lovely morning walk.

 

Mr. Postman

I’m out-of-town, dog in tow, and something’s missing. Turns out it isn’t the first time I’ve had this feeling. Case in point: an excerpt from one of my very first posts from August 25, 2009.

I’ve been away on business with my dog Rory for almost a week. I thought I would pine for our daily walks in Central Park; my idle conversations with neighbors on their stoops; or the energy that is Manhattan.

stack of mailInstead, I miss my mail.

What excites me most about my return home — besides sleeping on my own pillow — is seeing what treasures await in the stash of mail that is being held for me at the post office.

I don’t know if my feelings are unique to freelancers. I hope to see checks in the mail, of course. But I will be equally psyched to see letters, magazines, catalogs, theater and event postcards, and heck, even my bills.

I also miss the afternoon saunter to the mailbox; it’s a break I anticipate and enjoy. Here, in my friend’s apartment, there’s only email, and its constant stream — while immediate, necessary, and appreciated — doesn’t have the romance or charm of my daily snail mail delivery.

So, to my mailman back in Manhattan — I miss you. I appreciate you. And I hope you got my hold order. ‘Cause if I come home to an overflowing box of mangled mail…

I’ll have to kill you.