Oh, Where, Oh, Where

has my Herrschner's box gone?

Beats me. I'd really love to know. Because after coming home from a concert last night--later than 8:00 p.m., just so you know, because that's not atypically late for the mail to arrive around here--I decided I would go to the mailbox AGAIN (after having tried this at least four times between 4:00 and 7:00). I flew out the door and fell up the steps to the mailbox. And what to my wondering eyes did I find? The Herrschner's box, home for the holidays after 19 days of some kind of whirlwind tour. And I can prove that I wasn't lying when I said it was ordered 11/30. The box should be ashamed of itself! Its label clearly says 11/30.

Read, and beware. Note the "special message" telling the delivery person to leave it if no one answers. Bwah-hah-hah. As if we wouldn't have gone out and assaulted the delivery person to get that package.

Unless the USPS has nostalgically resorted to using ponies again instead of planes, trucks, and trains, it just does not seem right that it took that long to come a short distance directly due east from Wisconsin. What, are they using sleds? Snowshoes? short-range slingshots?

If you read the preceding post, you will know that mail in our little town is screwy this year, and we are getting mail for about everyone but us. So it would not surprise me if this box had swapped out with some other address and taken a good visit up Governor's Row, maybe sat out a few performances at the University, seen the lights downtown, and gotten back on the mail truck to go . . . to sunny L.A. for a while. And maybe there, Laurie's capricious cats opened it up, played with the yarn for a couple weeks, and then packed it back up and put it on their mail truck.

Just in case you were wondering (like my eyes), nobody's getting any socks this Christmas. Handmade, anyway. From me, that is.