For the first eighteen years that we lived in our house, I was working and not usually at home when our mailman, Bill, came by. But in the last three years, I’ve seen much more of him and gotten used to his warm greeting and helpfulness. We missed him during his recent long grand jury duty and once or twice when he had health issues.
But now, he is retiring. We chatted in my front hall last week. He knows everyone in our neighborhood and talked about watching the kids grow up. He’s especially fond of Sonja and Christian who live across the street from us, and has offered to babysit for them once he has retired.
He said some postal delivery employees like to get paid for eight hours while working about three. Bill says he works ten hours and is paid for eight.
He’s worried about missing us all and finding the right thing to do in retirement. Sounds familiar to me.