Take The Time

I have been frustrated lately because our mailbox is still hidden under five feet of snow. This means that I have to stop by the post office everyday to pick up the mail. Yeah, this should be a simple thing, but one I start school in another town at 8am and get off at 4pm if there are no interruptions. Most days I leave at 4:30 or later. So when the post office opens at 9am and closes at 5pm and it is a 20 minute drive. You do the third grade math word problem here. I do not get to the mail most days. This is difficult for an anal person like me that starts to worry that a bill is sitting there and not paid. I know patience.
Anyhow, I made it to the post office yesterday and I need to remind all of you that we live in a town of about 3000 and they all go to the post office. With only 5 parking spots and five feet of snow in piles, well here is another third grade word problem. The answer is UGH!!!!!
I park and get in line. At the counter is a man who is talking to the postal employee while he is helping others. His voice is weaving a story that I am immediately drawn to. He is telling of the life of Geronimo. An Indian from this area. I am inthralled with this tale. About 10 others have entered the line to pick up their mail and as I turn around not one of them notices that we are in line. We are all focused on this man and his story. He starts to speak Apache as he weaves his words. I am able to get my mail and yet I am drawn to ask the man a question. I ask him how he came to know all of this information and he proceeds to tell me he was a lutheran minister for the Apaches for fifty one years. He was baptised by one of the leaders of the tribe and how they have no written language. I know this from the children that I teach and ask him if he tells his story to others. The ten people behind us are still standing there as I am hoping that these stories will not end. We all pause to thank him and explain that we could stay for hours and listen to him. I have a feeling of calm and amazement as he tells us he is 86 years young and that he speaks both Apache and Navajo. He begins to tell us the Indian words for rain, snow etc. and we all are sorry when he says he needs to get home to dinner. He gives me his address to write him if my principal okays a story telling by him at my school.
All I can say is I am so thankful I took the time to go to the post office yesterday.