The Mysteries of Life

I go out in search of the wonders of nature, but those don’t begin to match the wonders of the US Postal Service.

First thing I did when we arrived was to plant a post and put up a mailbox with a nice 67 on its side. Within moments I discovered a piece of paper taped to the inside of the box reading 67 Cranesway Drive — which I hadn’t imagined I’d needed to specify, but no sense leaving ourselves open to receiving mail for all the 67’s in the country. So that was nice. As was our mail carrier, Patrick, when he came requesting a signature for delivery of a bank foreclosure letter. An avid outdoorsman with some connection to New Hampshire as I recall.

Then there was the 6 and the 7 that I carefully selected from Lowe’s and painstakingly screwed to the righthand post of our front porch. It was only when I stepped back to admire my work that Santina pointed out the 67 that had already been nailed to the lefthand post. Patrick’s work? The clerk at the post office says absolutely not, he’d never have time for that. So we don’t know who did this.

But now we’ve really run afoul of the law. We have a collection of odd stamps on unused envelopes — things dating from the Carter years that never got posted. A pair of scissors and some Duco cement gave them new life, and made us feel quite thrifty; but it was apparently our mail carrier who affixed a sticky note to those outgoing letters warning that the reuse of postage stamps is a federal offense; the article of law cited. And the note in a wonderfully meticulous hand that I hope someday to duplicate.

We now know that stamps are not to be used if they will not stick of their own volition. And that if you bring those dusty stamped envelopes to your post office they’ll happily provide you with replacement stamps (wouldn’t it be nice if they’d just print that information on the stamps in the first place?)

And then there's the issue of when the mail is picked up. Some days we put mail in the box at 8:30 am and it's still there the next morning. Other days we don't receive delivery until late afternoon. Thankfully a local postal clerk was able to clarify: "If the carrier doesn't have mail to deliver he won't necessarily pick up . . . well he should." Which was pretty much my thought.

More recently, the 67 Cranesway taped to the inside of our mailbox has been removed and in its place there is a piece of paper with our names on it — and a stern message not to remove same. So we’re trying to remember not to. But there’s one more strange thing which has to do with a crudely fashioned, hand painted sign at the beginning of the long driveway we share with our neighbors. It has our neighbors’ number, 47 Cranesway, and an arrow. A couple days ago the number 67 was added to the sign. The neighbors have no idea who would have done this, but the 7 in 67 has a cross on it, the 7 on the 47 does not, suggesting that more than one person is keeping tabs on the goings on down here in the land of Everything’s Not Quite As It Seems.