Memories of Another Life

Sometimes...if I think REAL HARD...I can remember a time when I used to work. 36 years, and 27 days...that's how long I toiled at the Post Office.

I was studying in my den when I saw these 2 figurines, and the little truck. I don't think much about my work days anymore, but these little guys, and the fact that when I venture out and see the real trucks...always snap me back.

In its time, it was a great job. Day after day of 6 straight hours of good walking exercise. Walking that made a heart proud. The last few years the greatness faltered, but I still look back on it with mostly pleasant thoughts.

I think it's strange that I don't think of it much...in my waking hours. But, even after over 5 years of being gone...I still dream.

It happens about once a month, and it's always the same dream. In my morning time spent in the office...I just can't keep up. Tray after tray of letters...stack after stack of magazines...they just keep showing up. Even in my sleep...it makes me frustrated, flabbergasted, and flustered.When I do finally hit the streets...I always end up with 3 hours of work to do in 2 hours.

Finally...after waking up...I have to talk myself down. "YOU DON'T WORK ANY MORE!! YOU DON'T WORK ANY MORE!! STOP HAVING THIS DREAM!!"

Obviously...it doesn't work. Next month...I'll still be delivering the mail.

The backdrop is my old mail bag. My trusted companion...my doggie shield...my emergency rain bonnet.