I took the mail for a walk the other day. I slipped three envelopes into my coat pocket and headed out the door to town. My first stop was at the Goat Boy coffee bar. It's a great place to start the day, to get the pulse of the village.
I wasn't exactly asked to leave, but I could tell by the look the waitress gave me that hogging a booth for an hour while nursing a two dollar coffee was pushing my welcome to the limit, especially with a line of customers backed up to the front door. I took the hint and moved on; the mail in my pocket was a dim memory.
I walked along Front Street past the new bridge to Dunkin Donuts. I was hoping to bump into Bill Nolis, the owner. He's usually all ramped up about something or other and his enthusiasm is contagious. I needed some of it to recharge my batteries. It works even better than the caffeine that comes in his coffee. He wasn’t around so I picked up a large coffee-to-go and left. I passed by the Viet Nam Memorial in front of the Court House like I used to do every Sunday morning. Sixteen local boys lost their lives in that war. I didn't know any of them, but I memorized their names a few years back. I thought it was the least I could do. It could have been me; I had a one-A classification in the 1960’s, but lucked out and didn't get drafted. Anyhow, I've come to know these guys in a way, by reciting their names every time I pass by and then looking at the monument to make sure I remembered them all.
I arrived back home 20 minutes later with an idea for an old coot article that was clinging precariously to the edge of my taxed memory system. I needed to jot it down fast before it escaped. As I hung up my coat I noticed the letters in my pocket. My wife yelled out from the other room, "Did you mail the bills?"
"Not yet," I replied (out loud), and then quietly, under my breath, "I took them for a walk instead."
