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.
FARE THEE WELL,
MAILMAN KEN
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
route?
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
Yet keeps the news to
himself.
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
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment