What's Wrong with the US Government

Today's rant is about the postal service.

I have a friend in Wyoming hiking and camping. He's been there for three weeks and is planning on staying for another two months. I promised to send him his mail from time to time, but never know where he's going to be.

My friend called me the other day and said "send it General Delivery to Pinedale, Wyoming." I put everything in an envelope and rode my bike to the Pacific Beach Post Office to mail it. They couldn't help me. Apparently the United States Postal Service has no ability to find the zip code for general delivery in Pinedale, population under two thousand people. Now Pinedale is a small town as are most towns in Wyoming so I know there's only one post office. I told the postal worker this and she asked her co-workers and they all decided I needed to go to the Midway Post Office, which is six miles away. Now six miles to you rural folks might not sound like much, but for us city folks, six miles of stop signs, traffic signals and up and down hills and back again in under an hour (when I had to be home) wasn't going to happen on my bike. I guess I could have ridden home, started up a car and driven there, but then it would by seven miles there and seven miles back getting close to rush hour.

I felt like I was in the twilight zone. If a person cannot not obtain a zip code from a United States Post Office, then where, I ask, would I find one? So I rode my bike three blocks to the library, got on the library computer, went to the USPS website and searched for the zip code for the street address of "General Delivery" in Pinedale, Wyoming. And I had the zip code.

Then I had to go back to the Post Office to mail the package. Am I the only person who sees something wrong with this picture?

On Momentum

I have a friend named Karen who has three boys, ages five and under. I have an eighty one year old mother with a brain damaged by stroke and physical problems on the side.

I often wonder how the other Karen does it, keep up with three young kids, and I realized it has to do with momentum. Kids supply their own momentum if not always in the necessary direction. Of course, three small boys combined probably don't have the amount of mass that my mother has, but they have a plethora of velocity. Given that momentum somehow equals mass times velocity, I think they are off the charts.

My mother is lacking in momentum. She has the desire for it, but can't seem to remember to ask, suggest or do anything. I have to provide momentum for two. It's hard to to muster up the necessary momentum day after day to drag a 130 pound woman plus wheelchair into the pool, out of the pool. For a walk. To do exercises. A struggle to mount a conversation with a woman who omits verbs and nouns from her not quite sentences. When asked what she wants to do, a common response is "This one" with her first finger pointing at the ceiling.

If you're confused, no worries. So am I. "This one" can mean a sleeping pill, reading a book, television, a walk or a number of other things that will require five minutes of guessing games before communication is established.

So some days, I grit me teeth and chat over dinner. An exchange of three sentences is about fifteen minutes worth of questions, signs, waiting and frustration on both sides. Some days I don't even try. I'm too tired, or too frustrated, and just want to put food on the table in front of her and read the paper or clean the toilet while she eats.

So the next time your small child chatters up a storm, count your blessings. At least feigning interest and a few well placed "oh really" and "that was very nice" will carry your for fifteen minutes with kids. I on the other hand, am stuck flipping through a Swedish-English dictionary, trying to comprehend a nounless and verbless sentence and asking questions that will help me figure out what my mother is trying to say.

Least you judge me, when you've been trying to teach someone to say "bedroom" for nine years without consistent success, it's frustrating and you have to give me kudos for trying again tomorrow - a tactic I've employed for nine years now.

I Lost My Mornings

I lost my mornings nine years ago and I only realized it this week. It's not that I don't have mornings anymore, but they're not my mornings. Not my time to catch the sunrise surf or wake early and watch the sky change color.

The one day a week that I do own my mornings, I use them to sleep, since sleeping when you have a disabled parent to care for is an oxymoron. But let's not worry about that now. My concern is that it took me nine years to realize I hadn't been swimming at dawn in, well you guessed it, nine years. I could have noticed after five years that I hadn't watched the sunrise in five years. Or noticed after three years that I hadn't stayed up all night and watched the sky change color in three years.

So I'm not sure what that says about me other than I've been sucked into Zombie land. Zombie land is a strange place. No fun. No play. But you're so busy working, you don't even notice that recess has been canceled. I'm not really sure what to do about it. There doesn't seem to be an exit gate or glow in the dark signs pointing the way out of here. Or maybe the signs are there, but because I'm a Zombie, I don't notice.

If you happen to notice some befuddled mornings walking about in circles not quite sure where they belong, will you send them my way?

Gathering Fever

So it's that time of year again folks. Gathering fever has struck. I've created a new blog for the Wyoming Gathering, so check it out. A lot of the old family are going to be on hand to share 37 years of gathering wisdom before they loose their ability to get out on the land and gather with us.

So this year is the year to come home. For more information, visit Karin's Wyoming Gathering blog.