Tuesday, December 22, 2015

Mom's Okay - Poem: Farewell Mailman Ken

Thanks to my sister Lynn for driving in the ambulance with Mom to Abington Hospital's ER.

No broken bones. They're on their way home. Ellen also went.

I sent an email update to about a dozen family members and others.

Here's Lynn in the middle with daughter Jade and her son/law Matt at a recent party.


Everyone in our Coffeeshop Writers Group is in a tizzy. Where will we meet now that the Willow Grove Giant will become a Beer Garden. I called up and they hope to be open on New Year's Day, the perfect time to get drunk and be out on the road.

Robin Franklin has been very helpful. She said if there's not enough room in the Coffee Shop we can meet upstairs in an extra room or in the big lounge.

After I took a short nap at 1:15, I made coffee, a gift from Donna at yesterday's b'day party.

 Very peculiar and difficult to open foil.
Very good coffee, which I drank in the recycled flower cup Martha gave me.

Here's the lovely menorah David Hunter made me in his basement workshop.

I mean, like, WOW!


So, I've got two letters I forgot to put out for Mailman Ken.

Thank goodness, for it was then I learned the truth.

Today is his last day of work!

He is retiring!

I zoomed back home to write him a farewell poem.

I have enough confidence to know I could do a great job that would make him smile and would be a good souvenir of his time with us.

Wrote it on New Directions stationery so he could see what I do.

Oops! I actually spelt it  Fare The Well.


Who, but Mailman Ken, knows how
to arrange with perfection the
mail in my painted mail box?

Who, but Mailman Ken, has a
kind word for everyone on his

Who, but Mailman Ken, is
“johnny on the spot,” coming
round the same time of day
like the sun rising in the east?

Who, but Mailman Ken, knows
our most personal business,
late on our mortgage payment?
member in good standing of
the Maple Glen Bible Church?
Yet keeps the news to

He waits up for me as I ride
my silver stallion to hand him
one more letter.

Today it was to my California
girlfriend who wishes she
could be at my 70th
birthday on Cowbell Road.

Where is he? As I watch for him among
the houses on Sleighride Road
I see a quick movement and
stride over. He takes my letters
in his kind mailman’s hand.

“My last day,” he tells me,
chewing on his gum.
“Your last day?” I squawk.
“I’m retiring,” he says with
hidden glee.

“I’m happy for you,” I lie.
“Very happy.”
For who under God’s brilliant
blue skies can ever replace
our own Mailman Ken. 

- Ruth Z Deming, December 22, 2015

 Ken knows that when I put this Painted Rock atop the mail box on rainy days, there's letters to go inside.

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