Yesterday morning we wired our house payment to Diane and all was well. I half expected hear that our check to arrive in her afternoon mail, but it didn't.
Late in the day, I received a phone call from our local postmaster. She's a big city sort who replaced our long time beloved postmaster about a year ago. This woman hasn't quite mastered how to deal with the folks in our small town and no one likes her. In fact, she's so unpopular that a group of locals picketed the office last month in an effort to get the regional directors to pay attention to the problems she's caused. This picket line was populated by elderly people. Who says there's no life after sixty?
She'd clearly been given an assignment by someone to search for our missing letter. "Mrs. Paddock, we've looked high and low in our office and your package isn't here," she said.
"I know that. It was last seen in Springfield and it wasn't a package it was a letter."
"When were you expecting it to arrive?"
"I was expecting the woman I sent it to to get it five days ago."
"Well the package isn't here. I'll call you if we find it. It's probably just delayed. I'm sure it will be here soon."
"It's not a package, it's a letter and I'm assuming that it's somewhere between Springfield and Green Bay, Wisconsin."
"Wait, it's a letter?"
Our United States Postal Service is on the job. Reassuring, in't it?
This evening, just for fun, I checked the tracking number on our letter. It seems it left Milwaukee early this morning and is on the way to Green Bay, four days after it was suppose to arrive.
Milwaukee. I can only assume the letter decided to take a detour because it had never seen a brewery before. I hope it took pictures.