Blustery days are so much more fun when you are watching them on the television rather than experiencing them in person. I will have you know that Pooh, Piglet and Tigger seem to have much more fun on blustery days than I ever imagined you could.
It’s cold out thar, Margaret!
(What is that song, “thar’s a hole in the bucket, dear ….? Is it Liza? and then who does Liza say? – random stray thought.)
OK, back on track. It’s snowing. Lots and lots of snow. You can’t see the footsteps from this morning. You can’t see footsteps from an hour ago.
But what really has me worried is what will the mailman do? The big mean nasty county snowplow driver slammed into my poor little mailbox with all of its might, ripping the dear plastic thing literally in half. Where will my precious mail go? Will I get mail? Will my mailman be a dear and decide to forego the warm interior of his vehicle to walk my mail to my door? Will I being a nice homeowner, watch for said mailman and rush out to greet him? Or will I just hope my mail will somehow magically appear on my desktop just like its electronic counterpart.
Anyone taking bets on how long the next mailbox lasts? This one made it one and a half winters. So far, I think the snow plow is ahead and my bank account is behind. (Just a note, if I complain, the road commission will happily give me a new (cheap) mailbox and they’ll even install it for me.) Speaking of that, it just might be worth it since I wouldn’t have to get out in the cold (and neither would dh) to install a new one. Or maybe I should just give it up and rent a PO box and save my precious mail. Last time there was actually mail in the box when it was so rudely ripped from its post.
