3.30.2021

Why yes, there is fresh, hot coffee in my hand! But it's only 2:00 so I'm good. Random things that popped into my head at 2:06 pm on a Tuesday. (Like, do you know your mail person's name?)

 

  • When you don't regularly eat sugar (at all) but someone gift's you with 18 macarons and you start eating them one after another (because you never ever ever get macrons and you really, really, really like them), how many does it take before you get sick?   Seven.  About, seven.  The answer is 7.
  • Scrolling through pinterest and instagram it's easy to read quickly and... incorrectly.  Like, for instance; say there is a post that reads "Rice Krispie Vests" with an adorable little Easter dessert table pictured and you think to yourself "Someone made their Rice Krispies into an edible vest?  That's weird.  Who would do that?"


NO ONE.  That's who.  Because obviously those adorable little cereal and marshmallow treats with little Peeps in them are nests.  Little cereal desserts nests with Easter Peeps in them.  Go back and read lady!  "Rice Krispie Nests".  NESTS.  

  • I think it's weird I don't know my mail lady's name but it's been too long to comfortably ask her now.  It would be really awkward at this point.  I know from growing up in a small town, not only do you probably know your mail-persons name, your mail-person is probably your neighbor from two doors down, the Mom of your classmate, or your Dad's cousin. 

My 'background' to this thought is that I watched my mail lady drive by and pop some mail into our box.  I was thinking to myself that I don't know her first name.  I do know her daughter's name (Nevaeh) who is about 5 years old now.  But I don't know her name. 

You see, when we moved here, I won over our grumpy old man postal worker (finally) and got him to start being friendly and smiling... and he was a really nice guy once you broke that ice!  But then he was retiring and the lady was a young thing.  And when she came to my house to deliver a package I met her outside so I could let her know if she wanted to just 'toot' the horn like the last mail person did, that everyone on this route knows it's the mail person and they will come out to the truck to get the package and she won't have to waste valuable time on her route walking up to everyone's front doors to deliver them.  (Where we live the front doors are usually up at least one set, if not two or three, of big staircases, with or without huge front porches... not like my days in the heart of the midwest where the front door might only be 12 steps from the mail truck, on a flat sidewalk with maybe 1 or 2 little concrete steps.)  Actually, when I was a kid, our mailman walked house to house with his little gray mail-shorts and baby blue uniform shirt, his striped gray knee-high mail socks and carried a big mailbag.  There were obviously a lot less packages being delivered back then!

Where was I?  Oh yes.

So I had gone out to meet the 'new' mail person and tell her the secrets of the previous long-timer mail guy and some of the things the people on her route might be used to, that would help her out.  And we chatted, and she told me she had a 5 month old new baby named Nevaeh - which is heaven spelled backwards for the 2 readers that don't know that.  (Because it was kind of a really big baby-name fad a few years ago... which is why most people do know it).

And so I know her daughter's name but I don't know hers.

But all of that went through  my brain in about 1.8 seconds because the initial random thought for the blog WITHOUT having to explain the background of how it came about into my head is....  that when we lived in Southern California - just 50 miles outside of Los Angeles, in a big city and in a large 700+ unit apartment complex to boot; YES I knew my mailman's name.

I don't know if anyone else did, but that probably tells you a lot about my personality.

A city of 300,000 people but my mailman's name... was Derry.

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And with that, the dryer and washer are 'done' and waiting for me to switch them out.

Thanks for joining me for coffee!

 





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