Friday, December 11, 2009


In my study stands this beauty.

An old set of post office boxes.

Yellowed slips of paper with faded names line the open-ended rows on the other side.

I used to sort mail into those slots as a young girl.

And as I gaze at them today I remember....

Mr. Overby, whose grandparents were real slaves.

Mr. Pierson who brought me back orange gumballs from Florida every year.

Betty, who stuck grey Teaberry gum into her mouth to mimic teeth. (And who we had to remind not to steal when she came through the line..."Betty, you need to pay for that ham inside your coat.")

Tex, the town bum whose hands shook so badly we had to help him steady his change. Putting our hands into his...steady now, it's alright...I've got it.

Rich, poor, white, black, young, old.

The Grocer and his Wife treated them all with dignity and respect.

As the Grocer's Daughter, I never thought about the legacy being built by my parents with each passing gallon of milk, loaf of bread, or (almost stolen) ham.

But when I walk by my post office boxes, I am reminded.

Don't judge.

Don't try to save.

With love in your heart, simply serve.

May it be so with me.


Mrs. Dunbar said...

Beautiful post.

Awesome picture. Looks like you are going to have some crazy good photos. You've got talent my friend.

patty said...

so beautifully written-i could picture them each! a great lesson for us all... what wonderful people, your parents. no wonder you're so likeable!! :)

Mrs. C... said...

You are amazing! You never cease to make me reflect and go "Oh yeah, remember that one!" good post, and great look into your past. What a great momento that your family has to cherish.

Related Posts with Thumbnails