Good luck and small pleasures
I’m having an astounding streak of luck. I returned to the post office this morning to mail a birthday present and only saw 3 and 4 (and 4 would have refused to help me since I had a [3lb] box to ship) behind the counter. Noooooooooo! But when it was my turn, 1 appeared and processed my transaction. You have to understand that in my current frame of mind, I’m making the most of these small pleasures.
Other small pleasures include the following:
- fantastic, gorgeous, sunny, cool (but not too cool) weather
- the cookie lady had peanut butter cookies today (they’re usually sold out)
- a lovely person sending me lovely things
- people buying my photos (thank you)
Postal
Today I stopped at the post office to mail a photo to Simon and had a chance to enjoy the very, very special people who work there. Of the five postal workers up at the counter, 2 of them do are fantastic. The rest suck goat balls. Let me tell you about them:
- Charming, efficient, always polite man who is all of those things and persnickety about folding things neatly and lining up tape, etc. When he wraps tape around a corner, he busts out a razor the slice the tape and make the folds smooth. It makes my mildly obsessive-compulsive heart sing.
- Charming, efficient, always polite woman who is just a doll.
- Man who might be autistic. He always looks slightly startled and offended as if asking for some stamps or how much will the postage be is an assault. Mildly cranky in a way that fails utterly to be endearing since it is not accompanied by any sort of stunning efficiency.
- Self-absorbed man who has a back injury sustained on the job, which sucks big time for him and I can only imagine how much pain he is in and how much it inhibits him. Oh, no, wait. I don’t have to imagine because he talks about it nonstop. Non. Stop. All. The. Time.
- A stone cold bitch. She makes all sorts of rules for herself, sits at the counter like a queen, is rude, inefficient, greatly inconvenienced by her job. When asked today whether or not she wanted to take 30 or 60 minutes for lunch, said 30 and then claimed after the schedule was set that she’d said 60 and argued and bitched about it for a while in front of customers. This is but one example of the kind of thing she seems to do all the live-long day.
While I was filling out customs paperwork, 5 announced to the post office at large that she only had one more year before retiring. Under her breath, 2 said “Thank God.”
Amen, sister.
Gigapixel gigapixel gigapixel gigapixel
It’s my new favorite word. It is also related to this.
A question for all my U.S. peeps
Has anyone else ever noticed those tiny, official-looking (i.e., probably printed by the highway department) signs by the side of the road that just say “PINE TREES” in black letters on a white background? If yes, do you also know what the deal is? Is this just a Virginia thing? And if so, why not be more specific and helpful? Why not identify the other trees types as well? I mean, there are pine trees right behind the signs but there are also other clumps (or vast groves) of “PINE TREES” that have no signage. Normally I would provide a photo right about here, but I’m generally zipping along at 75mph the speed limit when I see them and cannot simply stop and take a picture.
Anyone?
Bueller?
People may come and go but holiday catalogs are forever
It has begun. The catalogs are crammed into my mailbox in a manner requiring surgical extraction (which is going to one day require surgery to repair the injuries resulting from said extraction), and when I get to the top of the stairs, another batch of 6-8 is bundled at the door. To be honest, there are magazines too, but the catalogs … the catalogs are killing me.
While the visual similarities are striking, I cannot confirm if the flavors are (updated)
Kiwi, taken by me.
Banded Tussock Moth caterpillar, taken by my Dad. Thanks go to Unclaimed Mysteries for the ID.
Yawp and rumble, din and cry, tidal whisper
“At noon, the vessel turns inshore past black rock reefs into Gold Harbor. Twin glaciers descend from snow horizons between peaks, in an air as clear as might be found on some frozen planet. Along the edges of the bay, at the foot of the steep, bare slopes of scree and grasses, gleam the golden brown of elephant and fur seals, which are scattered the whole length of the mile-long beach and far back into the tussock on the beach behind, their yawp and rumble resonant in the vast amphitheater. In the shallows of the glacier stream where it crosses a grave beach, 14 elephant bulls recline side by side as a fresh batch of warm loaves. Each little while, the din and cry of the marine mammals, the tidal whisper, is shattered by the crack and thunder of a calving glacier, like dynamite in a rock quarry, causing frozen dust to rise where the ice has fallen.”
-End of the Earth: Voyages to Antarctica, Peter Matthiessen
