wait a minute, mr. postman

This is not the photograph I wanted to show you this morning.

Today is one of my favorite worker holidays -- Mexican postal workers to be exact. This is the day we recipients of everything mailed get to recognize the people who bring us the wanted and unwanted, and send off our letters and packages to people who often may as well be living in another geological era.

The mail has long been my favorite government service. I suspect it started when I was about six. I had shipped off some box tops and a dime to receive some now-long-forgotten doodad. Whatever it was took three to four weeks to arrive in a large envelope addressed to "Master Steven Cotton" -- and thus was I introduced to the Emily Post of Post Toasties.

I was hooked like a prostitute on crack. People, whether friends or strangers, would send me letters or cards or birthday gifts directly to my parents' postal box in Powers.

The post office lobby had a gum ball machine that was managed by my mother's father. I would often make the rounds with him of all the machines owned by the Lions. It never occurred to me how a town of less than 1500 residents could justify all of that over-sweetened chicle. But it was time I could spend with him -- in the post office.

During my five years in the Air Force, the APO system was usually my sole life line to The Other World. And almost daily, there would be letters, magazines, or banana bread from my grandmother. Even when mail workers would go postal in The States and take out their anger on their formerly-living colleagues, I never lost my attraction to the post office.

And it has been just as true here. I have had my current postal box for almost a decade now. If you are an occasional or regular reader, you know how often I tout its virtues.

So, when 12 November rolls around, I am ready to swoop down on the post office to distribute peso-stuffed envelopes to the men who work there in thanks for their faithful service.

I happened to be in the post office yesterday to mail birthday cards. Rather than wait for today, I left one envelope with the new postmaster -- whose name just slipped my memory, and an envelope for long-term postman Julio, who was out on deliveries.

I dropped  by this morning in hopes of shooting them for a portrait that would introduce you to the two of them. But the rather rustic (and admittedly colorful) sign on the door informed me the post office was closed today. As we know, for postman day.

So, the best thing I can offer you is the closed sign -- and a reminder of what day it is. It may not be too late for you today (or tomorrow) to catch up with your local postal workers and give them some tangible appreciation for what they do for you all year.

There may even be something from those three pixie-rascals on the front of the Rice Krispies box waiting for you in your postal box.