Well-Swept Yard

Well-Swept Yard Remembering why I began this blog as a place to put things about my family. Stories. Photographs. Memories. Half-truths.  Along the way it became diluted by inclusion of other things. So, beginning now I will clean it up and add things as originally I intended. I'm getting old, last survivor of my immediate family, and there are things to be put somewhere. Here is one place.  Will, let's get with it. 

I love getting mail at home. Always have. Saturday deliveries are special. I am at home most Saturdays and hear the mailbox rattling and know that the mail is waiting. Sometimes I work in the yard when the postal person comes with the mail. I've yet to see a grumpy carrier. I take the mail and we exchange a few words about the weather, about the sudden increase in catalogs (November and December), and notification that the carrier will be on vacation next week. The US Postal Service is the closest I come to the federal government and the meeting is usually pleasant. If only the rest of the government would aspire to behave as does the USPS.  I know. Nixon or somebody axed the postal service from the government. Never mind. The service is still a government service to my mind; just as Benjamin Franklin intended. By the way, Franklin proposed a seven-day postal delivery service .

Mazar-i-Sharif February 26, 1969 We've had a week of snow. I saw it snow every day of the week. It snows in the night and melts in the day. Snow and melt. Snow and melt. The snow melts and we have mud. The mud of Mazar fights at you. It is up to the calf of the leg in places now. Everywhere it is up to the ankle. Every day I hope for the plane. Never comes. Soon I will take land transportation through the tunnels to Kabul. I have to get a shot. When a plane comes I ought to get lots of mail.