I need a breather

Sometimes, if you stand on the bottom rail of a bridge and lean over to watch the river slipping slowly away beneath you, you will suddenly know everything there is to be known.

winnie the pooh

I like beer.
There. I've said it. I'm outing myself !
and what image does that conjure up?
a bleached blonde in Daisy Duke cutoffs and a halter top, hanging out at the races with guys names Snake and Buck?

an old lady in a ball cap sitting on her front porch with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth growling at the neighbor kids?

how about a middle aged , slightly graying mother of four with a fat Chihuahua and a gimpy Lab mix sitting on her patio watching the sunset.

yeh, that one would be it.

I have decided to attribute my beer love to my Father who was
A. of German descent ( I hope that's not racial profiling..)
and
B. made home brew with my uncle when we were growing up.
I still have the crock actually.
and truth be told, I never drink much at a time.
One or two tops.
I just really love the taste. And the frosty coldness of the chilled mug.
mmmmm...... better than a milkshake!

( I don't even own a halter top!)

Smells

I haven't written for so very long. I believe I'm beginning to catch up with my life now




I wanted to write this down so that I don't forget.
I love the smell of the Post Office in the evening when I'm the only one there.
It brings back so many memories.
Especially when I lock up the outer lobby.
The faint scent of paper and ink. A stamp-y smell too.
( you may need to be around a lot of stamps to recognize that odor!)
It reminds me of my Dad. When I was a child my father sold paper products.
Letterhead, envelopes and the like.
We had stacks of cartons filled with paper and envelopes and business cards
with Curtis 1000 Inc. stamped in the logo.
There is a distinct aroma to them.
I remember the first time I was on the workroom floor at the GMF for my tour of the plant on the day I interviewed. That was what struck me first. The smell.
I love it.
I also made many trips to the Post Office with my Father. I remember how cavernous the building seemed. Marble floors. Wooden tables with those ucky sponges floating in a bowl of water to wet the stamps with. Tomorrow I will be going to that same office in the morning for a retirement party for my friend.
It will still seem cavernous. The floors are still marble.
It's amazing.
Once in awhile I would go with my Dad to the old processing facility at night because he needed to get some mail out right away . We would drive to the dock and he would give the letters to a clerk. It was always so dark.
Anyway, maybe, if I believed in fate, I would say that I was meant to work at the Post Office.
and for sure , when those smells start drifting around in the evening...
well, I like it.