Mail from a reader

I wrote a post about cleaning my oven recently due to a plastic bread tie--or, in this case, a potato bag tie. I hate these flat, plastic ties. Not only are they hard to put back on the bag--you have to twist the bag just so to get it between the notch to stay--they aren't useful. I can't use that thing to hold, say, electric cords, a stack of coupons, or even my hair. Whereas, those wire ties can do all of that and more.

Those ties are worth saving. I have a drawer full. When my mother died, I took her stash. I keep those that come in bulk with garbage bags. Because they're useful. They make sense. The others? Nothing.

Saturday, my husband showed me an app he got for his phone because a co-worker had told him about it. I don't know the name of the app--in all seriousness, I was only giving him fifty percent of my attention--but it's connected to the postal service, and it can tell you via a photo what was delivered that day in your mailbox.

I kid you not.

Like our Amazon delivery man, you can receive a picture of the mail in your box. So, in giving me this information, he showed me what was in our box. We had two pieces of mail. One was junk, the other was a card from my PA friend, Lois. 

I was excited. Not about the app, but about the card because Lois always sends little goodies in the mail like newspaper clippings about people and things she knows I like. I keep most of them. I have an article about Ben Roethlisberger (in my Steelers room) and one about Nancy Drew (in my keepsake box). So, it was with great pleasure that I skipped out to the mailbox.

To find only the junk mail. No card. 

Tom: "But it says it was there. Maybe it came yesterday?"

It didn't. I left him to ponder the hows and the whys while I worried about what neighbor had my mail and why they had yet to deliver it back into my hands. This happens. We have a regular mailman, John, but one in a while, he takes off on golf adventures, leaving us with a substitute. Sometimes I receive my neighbor's mail. All Saturday and all Sunday, I pondered the whereabouts of that card. 

I did it again today when I hiked to the mailbox while the dog did his business in our yard. Perhaps the neighbor would stick it in with my mail. Maybe John didn't see it on Saturday but he would today. Perhaps...

It was there! Inside a stack of mail was the tiniest card ever, and I had to rip the envelope just to get the card out.

What could she have sent? A new picture of Jason Momoa? An article on the NFL's CBA? A cry for help because her granddaughter had opened yet another gallon of paint in the backseat of her car?

I'm not going to lie.

I laughed.