posting my dues

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 workers 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 crack addict. People, whether friends or strangers, would send me letters or cards or birthday gifts directly to my parents' postal box in Powers. It was like a portal to a new social dimension.

The post office lobby had a gumball machine that was managed by my grandfather. It was that type of small town. 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 lifeline to The Other World. And almost daily, there would be letters, magazines, or, best of all, banana bread from my grandmother. 

It has been just as true here on the Pacific coast of Mexico. I have had my current postal box for over 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.

Our local Facebook page had a discussion this week about the inefficiency of the Mexican postal system -- accompanied with tales of woe about Christmas cards that take months to arrive. That has not been my experience. My letters north take about 10 days to 2 weeks to arrive. Letters heading south take just a bit longer. Of course, there have been some that have taken longer, but not many. 

As an example, I received a birthday card last week on 3 November, It was mailed from England on 18 October. I would call that good service.

When I first moved down, I received four magazines in my postal box. No more. They all arrive electronically on my Kindle or my telephone.

What I do receive are birthday and holiday cards. And I appreciate them all. There is still something of the Powers boy in me that gets a thrill out of mail arriving at the post office. Even without a gumball machine being present.

So, off to the Post Office I shall go this morning with four envelopes containing a gift for each worker. Two years ago, I discovered the post office often closes for this special holiday. That is only fair.

If that is the case, I will make my deliveries on Monday. Because neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep me from my appointed rounds. Or something like that.

If you have not yet recognized your Mexican postal worker for his diligent service this year, I urge you to do so. After all, I still appreciate Christmas cards when they arrive late. I may even appreciate them more because I actually remember the ones that arrive out of cycle.

I like to think of it as restoring balance in the universe for all of those gifts the three pixie-rascals on the front of the Rice Krispies box sent to me over the years.