The 40-year class reunion of the Archbishop O’Hara High School intimidated me. The decades have been good to me in many ways, but I felt I was somehow inferior to my classmates. I have done many things, achieved much. But I am, in the end, a mailman. All those roads with their twists and turns, and I have little to account for a life of what some call adventure.
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I was dreaming of a basement bedroom and the dim light dribbled through the window at the top of the wall. Trying to get up the steps, I felt that something was tugging my shirt, pulling me to the carpet. My grasp on the rail kept me from falling. Though wanting to get up those steps, I resigned myself to the reality of being stuck in the room underground.
Leave a CommentSitting in the lobby making time with the customers is a great time. For a while. Then, the day gets long, which makes for a very long week. One thing I can say about carrying the mails is that the days goes quickly. I always feel a little angst before clocking in. But then I swipe my card and, bing, the day starts and is almost over.
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I’m struck with the passage of time. As I’ve written before, I think that the cruelest trick biology has played on us humans is that when we are young, time passes so slowly. We get a little wisdom and experience and time flies.
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When Sadie came to us, now ten years ago, we didn’t know what we were in for. A bundle of endless energy, she was already almost full grown. We estimated when we picked her up on Beardsley Road, after she’s been abandoned by some inhumane human being, that she was about a year old. She was a pretty dog, some kind of pit-bull mongrel, white and black.
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