... working on some new stuff ...
January 7, 1999
5:55 a.m.
Lisa's outside shovelling the new snow we got last night as I type this. Yes, it's actually well before 6:00 a.m--I think I'll keep her [grin]. The house is slowly dropping back into the daily grind. Brigid did school yesterday, which always helps keep us in line. Work was pretty much a full staff.  I guess the holidays are pretty much officially over.   With stamps going up a penny, you would think that the Post Office would keep a major stash of one cent stamps on hand for all those folks who have 32 centers, eh? Well, there you would be wrong. I mailed three manuscripts over the past couple days, and asked for a few stamps to make the 32 centers capable of doing their job. The lady at the counter politely told me they were out of stock. I started to get a little angry, but the woman gave me a tired smile and seemed to brace herself. She had probably gotten this blitz a few time already--and after the hectic Christmas season, I'm sure the Post Office is a mind-numbing place to be. I still wonder about why our government can't figure out how many stamps might be out in circulation, and do a better job of stocking stamps for increases. But I chewed on my lower lip and grinned back at her, making some crack about the crush of people who have probably asked that question. It's never a good thing for a writer to make an enemy of a postal worker--think about it. And I left felling pretty good about myself. But my feeling didn't have anything to do with the manuscript or the stamps. See, we went on in our discussion, talking about Chirstmas while she handled my manuscripts. She had a houseful of people together for five days, and had been cooking and cleaning and generally trying to corral the rush. Her husband had shovelled the snow from her driverway four times, and she had still almost managed to get stuck. As she talked, I noticed the way her hair was growing gray, a few strands growing thick and coarse. You had to kind of look to see them, but when you focused on her, they were obvious. She had smile line around her lips. I left the post office feeling like I had met a real person, and that's why I walked a little lighter. One of my goals as a writer is to respect my characters. I think I've discovered a way to do that.  Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"The Bull's quest for beauty is lifelong." From my horoscope today |
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