In my mailbox

I remember when I was young and my mom would ask me to get the mail. I’d slip on my shoes and make the long trek down the driveway. The door on the mailbox would stick a little, so I had to tug hard. Inside was always a stack of envelopes. Sometimes there was a financial magazine or sales fliers. I’d flip through the various pieces of mail as I slowly walked back to the house. It was usually stuff for my parents, but every once in awhile I’d find something with my name on it. I’d be so excited that I got mail, I’d skip back to the house, kick off my shoes, and rush to open it. When you’re a kid, mail is fun. Birthday cards with a brand new dollar bill carefully tucked in the fold of the stiff cardboard, notes from penpals, maybe even a box with something fun inside.

One of the downfalls of growing up is mail takes on a whole new meaning. Bills and junk mail you’d wish the companies would stop sending (just think how many trees could be saved!) seem to be the norm. But every now and then you get something that makes you skip up the driveway again, making you feel like the seven-year-old you from your past. It’s a great feeling! Looky what I got…

Embrace bookmarks

They're pretty, aren't they?

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