Courtesy of the United States Post Office: Poland Maine Branch
The day before I left Maine, I packed up my scanner to ship back to Arizona. I picked my sister up for our evening in Freeport and asked her where the nearest post office was. She directed me to the one in her home town of Poland. I wish I had taken a picture of the place, now, but it was pouring rain. Suffice to say, it’s a tiny little establishment. Patrons go up to the service window to obtain their mail, there are no lock-and-key boxes. An octogenarian preceded us, and was chatting amiably with the postman. I waited my turn, and as the octogenarian chatted with my sister (she sells her fresh eggs at the post office counter and was trying to give a dozen to the gent, while simultaneously trying to convince him that I was her sister and not her daughter – yeah, she’s never living that one down if I have anything to say about it), I paid my twenty-two dollars and change. The postman said, “Whaddaya wanna to live in Arizona for, anyways?” To which I said, “I don’t! I want to live in Maine!” He replied, “Ayuh, good livin’ up heyah.”
Yeah. I agree with that.
I was assured that the box would arrive in Arizona, “Oh, prob’ly before you die.” We departed with many goodbyes (they sure do like to chat down at the post office) and headed on to Freeport.
The box arrived less than a week later. Like this:
That’s 126 stamps, right there. If you look in the corner of the address label, you’ll see that the postal hub had to add eight more cents to the postage – I guess they didn’t have the heart to redirect it back to Poland (or my uncle’s house, which I used as the return address) after all the effort he put into affixing all those damned stamps. I laughed for a good ten minutes when I saw it, and still giggle every time I look at that box.
A visit to Prescott:
Bill, Robert and I drove up to Prescott yesterday to obtain ammo for the Zombie Apocalypse. Then we headed to Whiskey Row for some lunch. We discovered that an art festival was being held in the Town Square. Remember how I said that I figured the trees would be beautiful with leaves on them? Well, yeah, they are:
Also, one of the bartenders asked Bill if he and Robert were brothers. He laughed and said, “No, he’s my son. But thanks.” No idea where she got that idea, there’s no family resemblance at ALL. See?
Happy Memorial Day
We’re hanging out at the house today, watching National Geographic TV (“When Aliens Attack” is on right now and Bill is taking notes), with the Formula One race in Monaco soon to follow. I’m fiddling with photos from yesterday and from my Chicago/Maine trip, and will probably pound out a couple of articles. And do laundry. And clean the kitchen. Yarg.
The kids have been invited over tomorrow for burgers and dogs on the grill, potato salad, and this recipe for Strawberry Summer Cake courtesy of Smitten Kitchen. I think it will go quite well with Whiskey Brown Sugar Whipped Cream, don’t you?
I have apparently added “fog” to the list of things that I’m homesick for. Clearly, there is no hope for me.