50 sense

Morning just another day.

Happy people pass my way.

Looking in their eyes,

I see a memory.

I never realized

You made me so happy,

Oh, Mandy.

I miss my friends.....

The incident that unfolded in Goleta, California this week unfortunately reminded us of other events that have taken the lives of innocent postal employees. Years ago when the horrible tragedy in Edmond, Oklahoma occurred, I, as a postal worker did not understand how this job could cause someone to lose it to the point of gunning down coworkers. I really considered the job very "low-stress". Then another incident in Wisconsin occurred and the "going postal" term became a commonplace phrase. In Dallas, 1998, another postal worker gunned down a fellow employee at work. Since then there have been numerous suicides among postal workers in Dallas alone. I am sure the American public looks at us and thinks , "How hard a job can it be? All they do is stick mail in boxes. Why is that so stressful?"

Over the past ten years the atmosphere at my job has drastically changed. The stress level has increased tenfold. Although most of the 700,000 postal employees would never commit such heinous acts, these tragic incidents no longer surprise me. There are many things that have got to be changed at the post office. Postal reform legislation S.662 is a start for improving working conditions and service. You need this and we need this.

My cousin discussing pink pants and our favorite blog,Yellow Snapdragons.

In honor of my 50th birthday I am doing 50 new and different things. I am only to 14 and it is a struggle. Here is number 12. I found an address for my favorite high school teacher and dropped her a note. I haven't seen her since I graduated in 1974. I received an email back from her daughter telling me how delighted she was to get the note and that there was a snailmail letter on the way from her mother, my teacher.

Teachers are so important, especially in high school. It is never too late to tell them how they impact out lives.

my hometown

Spur, Texas

Thirty years ago I lived behind this cowboy in one of these trailers, 200 feet from the railroad track.


-Hereford Highway, outside of Canyon, Texas.

I work for the postal service. In spite of abusive management practices, skeleton crews and long hours, I truly like the job. I am overeducated for this job and most of my superiors are unqualified for theirs. Most of the workers(clerks and carriers)keep up their spirits by bonding with each other albeit only during work hours. The job itself is enjoyable due to being in the fresh air 6-8 hours a day, built in exercise while getting paid, and meeting the American public who really appreciates the service we provide.

October thru December is an extremely difficult period each year at the post office. In fact, it has pretty much ruined the excitement of Christmas for me the past 23 years. During that time and pretty much the rest of the year as well, I dream of retiring to recapture the magic of Christmas and spend more time at home doing things I want and need to do if only I had more time and energy.

January 5th I went to the doctor for an ankle problem that had been bothering me for quite a while. He put me in a cast boot for two weeks to rest and mend the tendons. I was so excited to be off work for two weeks! Yesterday when I returned to hopefully get released , he left me in the boot for three more weeks. This totals five weeks away from work. I should be elated, but instead I am bored and guilt-ridden that I am not at work pulling my load instead of contributing to the abuse of the employees by not being there.

Retirement seems less desirable when I am idle. I realize my job is very much who I am. It defines me. My friendships at work are much more precious to me than I realize when I am there. I think I will quit being so melancholy and spend this time off work resting up for the next 15 years of my 38 year sentence at this job that I love to complain about, but hate to miss.

No secrets here. 

Today is the last day of my forties. My fiftieth birthday should be a big deal. It IS a big deal.

I am struggling to come up with something memorable to mark the occasion and I am drawing a blank. Am I already too old to have fun? My friends will say I have been too old to have fun for years. Maybe my life is at a stage in which everyday is special. What more could I ask for at fifty?