I am really looking forward to moving to the city, but there are aspects of our small town life I will miss. Lexi got a stomach bug* Sunday night that necessitated washing her car seat cover last night. Forgetting this fact, I went to put the girls in the car to run a very important envelope to the post office for a very important family. With the sudden realization that the carseat needed to be put back together, I quickly decided that it would be faster to just walk. That’s the joy of living four blocks from the post office. It was cool outside, but not completely unpleasant, and the girls were enjoying themselves a great deal. That’s when I conceived of writing this blog post, in praise of small town life.
We approached the old post office, a squat and utilitarian structure that looks like many small post offices built in the 50s and 60s: mid-century modern, sans chic. Carefully walking up the narrow and rather steep wheelchair ramp, I tried to make it in the door. A kind woman saw me struggling and came to my aid. My new-used double jogger was one-half inch too wide. (Note to the government – wheelchair ramps should have roomy doors.) So I went down the ramp and in the front double doors and parked the stroller at the bottom of the stairs. Two kind old ladies watched over the girls in the lobby while I walked into post office proper to conduct my business. (The girls were no more than 15 feet from me, and in full view, we kept eye contact and regular waving the entire time.) It was approximately 4:30p and as is often the case, there was no one in line, and I was able to buy the necessary postage in a minute flat. Our post office displays a “5 minutes or less” sign, and I’ve never waited longer. I can’t say that for any other post office I’ve regularly patronized!
And so, only slightly thwarted by the narrow door, we bid adieu to our new small town friends and walked the few blocks home, passing three neighbors who stopped to say hello.
* Lexi is well, but Kate fell prey tonight. Please pray that she stops vomiting and Michael and I are spared.
