It makes package delivery extra complicated.
If a delivery comes via the USPS, we use our mailing address––a P.O. Box. Packages via UPS or Fedex come to our physical address––which means one of us has to be home.
We always use the extra four digits on our zip code, because sometimes lost UPS & Fedex packages find their way to our P.O. Box.
We live right across the street from the post office.
It’s one of Brady’s jobs to come with me when we “get the mail” (he knows those words, and his ears perk up when I say it, usually mid-afternoon).
The shortcut to the back deck of the post office has become a tunnel through the snowbanks. The lowest part of these berms is about shoulder height.
Brady hangs out on the deck at the post office while I get our mail, and the mail for the hangar.
We’ve been doing this six days a week for almost three years, and he’s still not convinced that I’ll come back out. Once I pass the first window, and he can’t see me any more, he starts barking. He doesn’t stop until I come back within sight. Hard habit to break, since every time I come back to say “Quiet!” only reinforces the behavior.
On our way back home, we saw that the cool kids have their tanning booth up and running again. They’ve shoveled off half the roof––the side that faces the sun––leaving snow behind them to reflect the light.
Living in Alaska changes your sense of hot and cold temperatures. It was fifteen degrees this morning. The high was 34 this afternoon. Tonight it’s supposed to get down to -4.
At the post office our friend Scott was wearing short sleeves and Chacos––and he seemed dressed for the weather.