things that can be mended
by Bella Rum
The mailbox has been returned to its former glory. To hear H tell it, its chances of surviving the next attack have greatly increased. While we’ve replaced several mailboxes, we’ve only had to replace the post once, and that was when our neighbor fell asleep at the wheel and drove over it. I guess that ended her snooze. Can you imagine? A few more feet and she would have been home. She was so embarrassed.
Anyway, she paid for someone to install a new post. It’s been slightly wobbly since then, but one of those things you can live with. When H dug it up, he realized why. He only had to go about 18 inches before the job was done. According to him, the one he replaced is buried about twenty-five thousand feet, and will require a tank to knock it over. Yeah, yeah, yeah.
I (quite tactfully) didn’t point out that the bottom half of the post remained in the ground after the assault. I think they hit it square on a knot with a baseball bat, and that’s why it splintered, but everyone around here has a theory. H did a spiffy job and I’m happy. Let’s leave it at that. Hopefully, I didn’t miss any mail between this incident and putting a stop on our mail while I was away.
Oh, and the starlings are baaack to their nest-building techniques in our dryer vent, and this time they broke the flap that’s supposed to keep them out. When did all of this craziness start? February? Yes, I think it was February. I wrote a Post About Nothing in which I boasted about how peaceful life was. I even feared that I was inviting the universe to smack me in the head. Since then a half dozen things have broken.
Of course, none of those things are major. It’s only everyday life: mailboxes that can be mended, refrigerators that can be repaired and car batteries that can be replaced. Aggravation comes and goes. These things don’t bother me as much anymore. Well, they do sometimes, but not so much this week for some reason. But I’m hearing mutterings from H about a condo, no maintenance, time better spent playing golf… mumble, mumble, mumble. I dunno. I may have to change the name of this site to Condo Chronicles.
I’ll need some time to wrap my mind around that. It’s hard to imagine.