Post Office

I’ve been off my game for four days running and I’m tired of it. Perhaps this short streak all started a couple of weeks ago when I (oops) dropped a heavy object on my foot while at work. Dang, it hurt so badly so I closed my office door to ice and elevate. Oh. the. pain.

A few days after the limping subsided some new strain of contagion began quickly spreading from office to office in my building there. Though I’m a healthy one it got me quickly and I was totally down for the count. But attempting to look on the bright side this did force me to catch up on hours of lost sleep. However, night before last a new malady took center stage – a pinched nerve causing such debilitating pain that I “lost” all the hours I’d gained back.

The kind neighbor who’d brought me soup a few nights before hooked me up with a wonder working version of Tylenol that was exactly what I needed to relax—pain free—and drift off to sleep.

So what of all of that? I am thankful and how can I not be?

Earlier in the day the back pain disallowed even the slightest amount of movement. But now, being wondrously pain free and having been practically housebound for four days, it made sense (really?) to test my driving skills to see if I was well enough to drive the car around the block. It went well so I drove on until I reached the local Post Office.

Just how on earth can the USPS be experiencing financial decline when half the town was there making transactions and checking their PO boxes in the middle of a normal work day? An older gentleman gracefully bowed low as he opened the lobby door for me, sweetly saying, “after you my Lady.”

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All the small things make up a good life. All the boring little insignificant moments that comprise the bulk of living—they bind the extraordinary life moments together. They’re like padding so the big accomplishments and special occurrences don’t clash upon each other but fit nicely into the entire scheme of a lifetime. It’s thankfulness, I tell you. Being appreciative of health, of neighbors, of the sweet fruit of the bayberry tree right there in the landscape of my town’s post office. Dear Lord, we thank You for these, Your gifts, (yes gifts) which we are about to receive . . .