DAY TWO HUNDRED - little red oval sign

Finally caught up with Mikey. Came down to get me some dinner and there he was, standing in the kitchen doorway. (Mikey is a slight, polite, twenty-something Polish gentleman who lives and works at the hotel. {See Day 118, 164 for likenesses.} We first became acquainted when I came to Weymouth the very beginning of November for the singles convention. He is a ‘you name it/he does it’ around here – since coming back he has been enisted to work in the house remodel. Greeted me warmly; I said, ‘welcome home!’ He said, ‘welcome home, no – welcome back, yes. I just left home that way.’ and pointed with his lips in the direction of Poland. Said he’d had a wonderful visit; I asked if he ever thought about moving back. He said, ‘yes, probably at the end of the summer.’ It seems his 82-year old grandma has recently been diagnosed with a fast-moving Alzheimer’s, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to spend as much time with her as possible. ‘There’s always another job, other money to be made, but it cannot buy back time with someone you love once they’re gone.’ Touche!

[One time when we were working together, I couldn’t resist telling him  – once we’d gotten to be friends – that his accent sounded every bit like the ‘Count’ on Sesame Street. He had a good snort over that one! Well, it’s true!]

Sometimes when I’m going along in my day I pre-write things for my honeybee blog in my head (assuming that my expectations are going to be how things turn out in reality – often as not I have to re-write what I’ve guessed at). For instance today, I was headed for the post office, to get some more 87p stamps, the postage for postcards. I’m thinking as I go, ‘here I am looking for the post office – the official kind like I might find back home – but I’m not going to be fooled this time because, as I learned in Birmingham, a ‘post office’ is actually a little section, most often, of a convenience store, run by the people who own the establishment. (I’m sure they must have to do some sort of training/certification because they handle pension checks, foreign exchange, etc., besides regular postage and packages.)’ So I’m walking along – someone has told me that it is just a little further down, ‘just past Iceland’ – looking for some little shop with that characteristic red oval insignia overhead, signifying this is the location of ‘an official post office station.’

Here it is – found the sign. Hmm, it’s a substantial building composed of red brick, with definite architectural design. Inside: surprise, no shop here – a post office like any I might find in the States, with twelve different customer windows. Take a ticket and wait to be called. Hah – the joke’s on me!

[Saw a sign that read, ‘this office will close on Jan 26^th at 1230pm, to be re-opened at a new location.’ But wait, that’s this coming Saturday! Oh, no – what if it’s not convenient to shank’s ponies?! Whew, it’s to be located on the very same street – St. Thomas – a little further down, even closer to me than this one was. Oh, man – had me worried there for a minute. How can anyone live without their bank, their library, some sort of grocery store – AND the post office?!]

Can you believe it – 200 days today since I stepped on the plane in Salt Lake City headed for my long-awaited adventure to England?! Just as time often does, it feels similarly like a long, as well as a short, time since that occasion – both at the same time!

Photos_

1- soon-to-move Weymouth Post Office, with distinguishing insignia

2- exactly two hundred AND three days AFTER Erin and I were at DI, for the all-important purpose of finding me a picture frame so I could set a little photo of my family by my bedside, then ending up almost cutting my thumb off (just kidding – though it was an especially alarming experience – and right before I was to leave, too!), found at a charity shop in Weymouth the RIGHT picture frame; and there they are – finally! (My gosh, it took long enough – and after such a harrowing beginning, too!)

3- battle scar