Mailboxes

On the way home from the grocery store today, I was admiring all the neighborhood azaleas. They are in full bloom and thanks to all the rain, they are beautiful. Despite their explosion of colorful blossoms, I found myself noticing mailboxes. 

Someone on the next block just had their mailbox replaced. It is an immense stone structure. I giggled to myself thinking about the little mail truck hitting it (as it so often hits the stone planter around our mailbox.) Our stones just fall out and we have to pick them up and replace them. This mailbox will withstand the next hurricane and a direct hit from an SUV. The little mail truck will likely just bounce off. 

This led me to think about the other mailboxes I've had in my life. Our last house had a community mailbox down at the end of my street. Each day when we returned home from work we would walk down the street to fetch the mail. My girls were young then and liked the adventure of taking the little key and opening our small box. The dog appreciated the walk.  I'm sure it was convenient for mail delivery, but it always seemed a little impersonal to me. 

The house I grew up in, had a mailbox on the side of the house right next to the front door. I can remember trying to hang out the door to grab the mail in the pouring rain or to avoid the snow drift that had formed on our front porch. On Saturdays, I would watch for the mailman and race to the front door to meet him and take the mail from him. My mom baked him Christmas cookies during the holidays. Though I don't remember his name, he was our mailman for a long time. He was a tried and true member of our community...someone who was pleasant and trustworthy. Sometimes I miss those days.