Feb. 2, 1858 ... As I return from the post office I hear the hoarse, robin-like chirp of a song sparrow, ... and see him perched on the topmost twig of a heap of brush, looking forlorn, and drabbled, and solitary in the rain. - Henry D. Thoreau

Journal of a Sabbatical

February 2, 1999

the post office and the rain

On this day in 1858 Thoreau went to the post office and saw a song sparrow. It was raining.

On this day in 1999 Egan went to the post office. It was raining.

The groundhog saw his shadow, but I have no idea which way the quahog spit. Hope their predictions don't cancel each other out.

Timothy Dexter seems to have inspired a fair amount of literature besides the works of his personal poet laureate. John Marquand, best known for The Late George Apley, apparently also wrote Lord Timothy Dexter of Newburyport, Mass. (1925) and Timothy Dexter Revisited (1960). Muriel Rukeyser wrote a Suite for Lord Timothy Dexter. So far as I know, neither of them got to wear parsley wreaths. But they probably didn't have to sell fish door to door either. I still can't think of anymore fish beginning with h and haven't gotten any input from the reading public on that. Surely there are more h fish than haddock, halibut, and hake.

Groundhogs are also called woodchucks. How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

That trip to the post office (mine not Thoreau's) had me doubting my competency as an adult functioning in society. The project was simple enough, mail a book and a box of herbal tea to Joan-west in Italy. I had a box I could reuse from my overindulgence in use of bibliofind. All I had to do was get some tape at CVS, seal the box and mail it. I'd already printed the mailing label.

So there I am at the post office with my brand new roll of tape, sealing up the package. The table is also being used by a couple who don't speak English (I couldn't identify the language - it wasn't Spanish) who were addressing two huge packages and the guy kept getting in my way, which of course made me feel like I was in the way.

The little slots under the table were all of out of customs declaration forms. So I line up at the window and ask for a customs form. The post mistress doubts me - she just restocked the forms. Maybe somebody took a bunch home?

I fill out the form and line up again with form and package in hand. She weighs the package and exclaims "oh, darn". "What?" "I gave you the wrong customs form."

Back to the table. At least the large package people are gone. Fill out the new form. Back in line or on line or whatever you do at post offices. Finally the package is on its way to Italy. Elapsed time 25 minutes.

What I want to know is why these kinds of things never happen to those crisp high-functioning women in suits who wake up instantly wide-awake, juggle kids, husband and job without missing a beat, and always look like they just stepped out of a magazine spread on career dressing? Seriously, such people go to the post office to mail a package and they're done in 3 minutes. Us jeans and flannel shirt types go into an infinite loop filling out forms until somebody hits an interrupt key. I know, the post mistress sees my bleary eyes and green plaid flannel shirt and deliberately gives me the wrong form? Right?

BTW, I was never crisp and wide-awake in a suit either. I had chronic jet lag - that'll make you look bleary eyed no matter how fabulous your suit is.

Meanwhile, the rain has intensified and the wind is rattling the windows. Even the fully competent adults are home drinking herbal tea in weather like this.