How ironic that today, in the aftermath of a huge snowfall, I don't boot up and get the mail till about 3. (It arrives about 10). After I wade through the snow and the creek that results from rain and melting snow, I get out to the mailbox, the mailbox with no front flap, thanks to the everpresent vandals. (This is our fifth mailbox in ten years, a rate that has slowed down immensely since I inserted a T post just before it, thwarting their baseball bats as they drive by). The former sheriff, when I complained about the November spree that destroyed my box among 22 others, simply said, "Boys will be boys!
The mail is damp, the top letter wet from the storm. Wonderfully, my thoughtful mailman has put my son's first letter beneath everything so it is dry. I must have looked odd, dancing around on the road, waving it! Then, dashing back to the house, protecting it from the sudden spurt of snowflakes, I even came all the way in with my boots on! Something I rarely ever do. Then, I frantically dig around looking for one of TWO letter openers that I have. I am somewhat compulsive about using a letter opener, but I resort to the scissors since I can't wait to unearth the opener. Still needing to preserve the involved military address that will enable my missives to arrive.
Now, an hour and several readings later, I can breathe deeper, email family with the all-important address. And write MY first letter to my son.
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