Post

It's a wonder that we are actually getting mail here. Or rather here, there and everywhere: we're still very much in between addresses, and the mail is going every which way. Some things are still being sent to us back in Switzerland...to both H's office and his mom's house. Another few letters went to my parents in California, while others are landing at H's office here. Then there is the mailbox at our first short term rental that I still check regularly...and of course, there's one here, too...

Just to complicate matters, we don't have a doorbell at this place, so the UPS and FedEx "signature required" stuff is kind of problematic. I'm still a little puzzled as to why these orders (stereo stuff and a transformer for the electrical sockets?) couldn't wait until next week when we're in the house, but nevermind. I have a wonderful plan-ahead type of husband who wants to be sure everything is up and running right away..especially the music. So what if it means a few more heavy boxes to carry up and down the stairs. We're used to it by now...

Anyway, it's been quite a bit of a run around to make it all come together. But soon we'll have our very own wonderful house, with our very own little mailbox out front where everything can be delivered.

Or not...Turns out that one of the charming parts of our new town is that home mail delivery doesn't really happen. Everyone has a post box at the local post office down the road - a perfect throwback to quieter simpler times. I went down there the other day to check out the situation with Rita, the town  postmistress, who keeps it all running, ticking as perfectly as a Swiss watch. The place was hopping - in the fifteen minutes I was there, there must have been at least a dozen people through the door - of all ages - and everyone was on a first name basis with Rita.

"You can actually have the mail delivered to your house if you really want to, but no one does that here," she said. "This is more fun. We all get to see each other this way. Especially on Saturdays....If you want the gossip, come on a Saturday morning." I hold back from telling her that this sounds just like the dump - or the dechétterie (everything sounds so much more refined in French) - back in Switzerland. I mean this in only the most positive of ways. We had mail delivery (albeit no street signs, nor house number - only a house name - Au Grand Clos, until about 1 year ago when the local officials decided we needed a proper address for GPS devises and the like), but there wasn't curbside recycling in our town. So everyone had to tromp down to the dump on Saturdays....get rid of the papers and the bottles and the likes...and pick up the latest scoop in town. (I miss it!)

So this whole post office things sounds good. Familiar and cozy. Nevermind the fact that I have a horrible track record when it comes to going to the post office (as many a late or unsent birthday card will tell you)...I went ahead and decided to do as locals do here - and signed us up for a post office box.

Rita seemed happy with the choice. She let me pick the number myself ("do you have a lucky number?" she wanted to know) and made sure she knew my name and my husbands. "You have kids?" she asked? "Not yet," I smiled back. "Here's our baby wall - did you see it?" she pointed, "that's where all the new baby pictures get posted in town. We have lots of babies here. It's a great place for kids," she winked. She's about as subtle as my mother-law on this subject, and I like her all the more for it.

Need to find me on a Saturday morning? You know where I'll be...