Wait a minute, Mr. Postman
The Cliff Clavins and the Newmans of the world would probably protest the parade of packages delivered daily to DePaul pad. Today there were four, piled in the foyer when I got home.
They are from out west. Big boxes, wrapped in butcher paper, alternately addressed by Aunt Bee and Aunt Ess, for Mama Bennett. She continues to give all her stuff away.
Zelda gets clothes. A few are fashion pieces. A few are wire-hangered anachronisms with the price tags still affixed. Most of them make the trek up to the attic (not on their own, of course). It's truly the thought that counts.
Lovett and Dora get knick-knacks from Mama B's travels, either foreign mission trips or domestic yard sales. Ironically, most of the stuff was moved out west by Aunt Ess and Uncle Cee, costing valuable moving-van space, only to be mailed back to Alabama, costing valuable postal-van space. Mama B's postal budget rivals that of Capital One.
Mama B is on a mission to divvy out her trinkets. As if she's running out of time. She told Aunt Ess she asked the Lord to let her see one more snowfall. Yesterday, they got a foot. And the packages keep coming.
* * *
Some trivia to ponder as I deal with the above:
1. For extra credit, does anyone know the name of the mailman that Dagwood Bumstead knocks down on his way out the door? It took me 2.5 seconds to find an answer in Google (I misspelled Blondie the first time), so I realize as far as challenges go, this is pretty lame.
2. When mentioning the Clavins and Newmans of the world, should they have been written in the possessive, as in Clavin's and Newman's?
3. Is the scenario of moving stuff out west only to mail it back to Alabama really irony as I declared it, or am I guilty of flagrant and ignorant use of cliche?
4. Am I the only one who receives an average of two pieces of mail a day from Capital One? What's in my wallet? What the heck is in theirs? The Clavins and Newmans must be sick of them too.
They are from out west. Big boxes, wrapped in butcher paper, alternately addressed by Aunt Bee and Aunt Ess, for Mama Bennett. She continues to give all her stuff away.
Zelda gets clothes. A few are fashion pieces. A few are wire-hangered anachronisms with the price tags still affixed. Most of them make the trek up to the attic (not on their own, of course). It's truly the thought that counts.
Lovett and Dora get knick-knacks from Mama B's travels, either foreign mission trips or domestic yard sales. Ironically, most of the stuff was moved out west by Aunt Ess and Uncle Cee, costing valuable moving-van space, only to be mailed back to Alabama, costing valuable postal-van space. Mama B's postal budget rivals that of Capital One.
Mama B is on a mission to divvy out her trinkets. As if she's running out of time. She told Aunt Ess she asked the Lord to let her see one more snowfall. Yesterday, they got a foot. And the packages keep coming.
* * *
Some trivia to ponder as I deal with the above:
1. For extra credit, does anyone know the name of the mailman that Dagwood Bumstead knocks down on his way out the door? It took me 2.5 seconds to find an answer in Google (I misspelled Blondie the first time), so I realize as far as challenges go, this is pretty lame.
2. When mentioning the Clavins and Newmans of the world, should they have been written in the possessive, as in Clavin's and Newman's?
3. Is the scenario of moving stuff out west only to mail it back to Alabama really irony as I declared it, or am I guilty of flagrant and ignorant use of cliche?
4. Am I the only one who receives an average of two pieces of mail a day from Capital One? What's in my wallet? What the heck is in theirs? The Clavins and Newmans must be sick of them too.
posted by Chris @ 7:44 PM
2 Piquant Remarks:
At 8:59 AM,
~Jan said…
1. He has a name? Whaddyaknow!
2. No apostrophe! I beg of you!
3. Yep, it's ironic all right.
4. Rhetorical questions need not be answered, but I'll just add that I deplore "catalog season." I'll bet Mr. Mailman does, too.
At 4:01 PM,
HCaldwell said…
I'll bite.
1. Mr. Beasley. Also the name of the doll that Drew Barrymore had on that really bad sitcom from the late 60's or early 70's.
2. No possessive. Who'd want them?
3. I think it is a toss-up between being an irony and an absurdity. Like the difference between Vase and V(ah)z. It just depends on how much it costs.
4. You are not alone. You should read my post of May 17, 2005 if you want a "misery loves company" moment.
ps. I like your blog
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