Travelin’ Travis, No 2 son, called awhile ago. He was
standing in line waiting to catch his flight to Paris. Then he
boarded and took a window seat, and said, “They’re shutting
the door, so that means I have to get off this phone. Later,
Mom. I’ll call you from an Internet cafe in France somewhere.”
From there he will fly to Copenhagen and join up with his old
pal, Paul, who now lives in Denmark since last summer.

In the next two weeks this adventuresome pair will visit Denmark
and Norway, and will take a detour to Romania so they can ski
in the Carpathian Mountains. I inquired if his itinerary included
a stop in Transylvania as I would love very much to have some
photos of him and Paul at Vlad’s Castle. He said they might
since Dracula’s old residence is near the slopes. So, I’m looking
forward to that.

Yesterday I lost one of my gloves. Today I located it in the Hallmark
Store where I shopped. I felt so lucky as I could not find a spare
minute anywhere to go buy a new pair.

Mail has grown into its own chamber of horrors. They say it should
all be over Saturday. That’s just 3 more working days. Did 18,556
steps up and down the dock. Funny thing happened on the way to
Bay 8. Young, good-looking, sleepy driver backed his truck into the
South Dock and waited patiently for the even-sleepier mailhandlers
to load him with containers of mail destined for another large city
two-hours’ drive away. Four times the manager of Transportation
told me to seal him up and get him on the road, and each time I
started scanning the barcodes and writing up the paperwork to
dispatch him I would get told to hold him for more mail they found
lost inside the building. Finally after about 30 minutes of adding
gaylords on his truck, I was told to seal him out, which I did just
as quickly as I could. The driver was soft-spoken and never uttered
one complaint the whole time. Silently he followed me through the
maze of postcons and wire cages and hampers and BMCs all overflowing
with Priority parcels. As we approached my cluttered desk he said
in his serious, quiet, Southern drawl, “Mam, your job would make a
preacher take up cussing!”

Laughter never felt as good as it did that moment.

Journal Comments

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