When we moved into The Fixer Upper House a year and a half ago, I got a note that went something like this: "Until you get a proper mailbox, the United States Postal Service will no longer deliver mail to this address."
This unwelcome letter made me gloomy, because I had to pick up our mail at the post office until I replaced the 2-inch mail slot next to the front door with a mail box big enough to handle today's volume of junk mail. I knew it would take months...and months to find a mailbox that met my standards.
I had a vague idea about those standards: circa 1920s, wall-mount, brass with a brownish patina to go with the front door's 100-year-old lock and handle. And I knew I
didn't want art deco or arts & craft. Foreshadowing the level of effort I would put into finding other house fixtures, I searched ebay and craigslist; googled "mailboxes circa 1920;" looked through dozens of catalogs and magazines; and shopped malls, home-design stores, antique stores and flea markets. But I couldn't find the mailbox of my dreams.
Fortunately, about a year ago I got on good terms with Glen, my mail carrier. I think he felt sorry for me because the
All along, Husband told me to just buy a plain mailbox for the time being. And all along, I held out for the perfect match. Until now. I'm tired of shopping and fussing over my house. I want to live like a normal person, and not like a buyer for the perfect life. I want to get a Visa bill that doesn't make me gasp and fall head first into the pile of papers on my soapstone desktop. I want to stop the madness!
And so. ... and so. Yesterday I ordered a plain mailbox from Restoration Hardware. It's a simple upright box, rather Amish-looking, brownish brass that I think is similar in color to the lock and handle on my front door.
It's on back-order, of course. I hope Glen will spot me for a few more weeks.