My mailman etc.

This morning I was watering my plants and hosing down the whole front yard when the mailman pulled up to deliver today’s mail. I was surprised; he usually comes around 4-5 o’clock in the afternoon, so I asked why so early and he simply said, why not early miss? I had no objection to that. For as long as I remember I have lived in places where the mail always came late in the afternoon, so I wasn’t going to complain about it arriving early. I have a thing about the mail; I love to run down my driveway and pick up it up. Most of the time it is because I anticipate books that I have purchased online to arrive. What I don’t like is the same credit card offers that come in every single day. I am amazed at how much time, effort and money is put into these offers. Haven’t they realized that they have been sending me the same piece of mail for the last couple of months and not once have I replied. I bet they are just waiting for me to finally break down and activate one of their credit cards. No mate, I shall not give them that pleasure! And then I think about all the paper wasted for this lost cause, and I cannot help but recycle and recycle.

My mailman is the nosiest person I have ever known. He knows everything about everyone in the neighborhood, provided that he has been driving the same route for the last fifteen years or so. He is quite a character; I also think he wears a wig. In fact I am almost positive about this, but it’s just that .0001% possibility that it might just be a bad hair style.

When we first moved in he told me that the previous owners of the house were from Haiti. I already knew that, but what I didn’t know was that the husband was not in Haiti on business as the wife had informed us during the purchase of our home, but instead in jail. According to my mailman he was a notorious serial killer. It was eerie knowing that this killer had once lived in my home.

On another occasion the mailman told me that my next door neighbor was the city manager, supposedly a big shot in local politics and so on. The city manager is strange too. He always leaves on a lamp by the window of one of his second floor rooms, regardless if he is in or not, or if it’s day or night (but I won’t get into that right now). The mailman also told me that the family of a local professor, who has been incarcerated on terrorism charges, lived just about three houses from me. What was I to do with all this information?Iit was useless. I could not help but think that if God-forbid I were to ever get into trouble, the whole neighborhood would know. I am sure the mailman would love to tell them all.

Today, apart from all the junk mail I also received another
SARK book. By now it has become a ritual. I order the book, wait for it to arrive, and then I put a kettle of tea on the stove and start reading the book immediately. When I finish it I am full of energy.