A good friend of mine, who has a son ten days older than the girls called me this morning. She told me, among other things, that it was beautiful outside. Really? I asked. Then I poked my own nose out the back door and indeed, it was sunny and WARM. Granted, Baltimore and Maryland in general have been known to have strange, unseasonal weather. I grew up in Maryland just outside DC, and I have memories of a time when I was staying with my parents over a college holiday in the winter when it was NINETY-FIVE DEGREES at the beginning of one week, then was snowing a few days later.
Is it lame to talk about the weather? This unexpected break in a gray and gloomy couple of weeks was welcomed by the girls and myself, and we took a celebratory stroll before they were supposed to take their nap. A nap, might I add, they flat out refused. Our stroll took us through the schwank neighborhood of Roland Park, then down through a little bit of Hampden and finally back home. What was my point?
Oh yeah. Where are all of the mailboxes? I walked around for an hour looking for my little blue buddy; the old stand-by, standard Post Office issue mailbox that used to be located every few blocks, everywhere. Every single box I used to plan a part of my day around (pathetic but true) as a goal to stroll with the ladies to, has been stolen. Taken out under the blanket of darkness, probably, and returned to the mothership of mail. What kind of world is it that no longer allows a person to leave their home by foot to mail a letter? For that matter, does anyone even write letters anymore? I just recently started to again, just because I was feeling cold and empty from the copious emails and text messages I communicate with my loved ones by. And now I can’t mail my letters. It’s getting cold again…on the inside.