Catch As Cat Can

                The town had built its latest post office at the turn of the nineteenth century, altering it only to make more room for parking, since cars take up more room than horses. The pleasant structure had been rewired three more times in one hundred years, the last rewiring occurring in 1998. Small though the station was, it was hooked into the national postal computer system. Miranda resisted using the computer. Harry, much younger, mastered it rapidly. Wisely, she never instructed Miranda in its use. She waited for Miranda to ask-which, finally, she did.

                Technology, so beguiling in its promises, often only delivers a new set of problems. The postal computers coughed, sputtered, and took to bed quite often with virus infections. While they could weigh packages, give an instant answer on postage at home and abroad, anyone handy with a scale, an instrument thousands of years old, could give the information in about the same amount of time. And wonderful though the blinking screen may have been, letters still needed to be hand-canceled at times, postage-due markings in maroon ink required human hands, and the process of sort-

ing the mail once it arrived at the local postal offices was done the way it had always been done-one letter at a time.

                In short, the tasks of the postal worker had changed little over the last century. And the advent of the twenty-first century still hadn't altered those tasks.

                Harry owned a computer from which she sent e-mail or occasionally logged on to the Internet to look up something. She spent an evening once reading about Hereford cattle on the Internet. Then she switched to the Angus site and compared notes. But mostly she thought the information revolution was more hype than reality.

                And nothing could substitute for a love letter. The sensuality of the paper, the color, the ink, the contents, the privacy of it, were inviolate and perfect.

                As she sorted that Monday's mail she thought about writing Diego a letter. Maybe she'd mention their kiss in the rain or how wonderful it was to dance with him on a cool spring night. Then again she could talk about grass crops. She hummed to herself as Miranda carefully pulled the striped dish towel off the orange-glazed cinnamon buns she brought to work. The fragrance of Miranda's best creation mingled with the pot of coffee brewing in the back.

                "Heaven."

                Miranda glanced at the old railroad wall clock."Heaven at seven-thirty in the morning." A dap of thunder made her laugh."I don't remember so many storms. One after the other. I'll get over here in a minute to help you. Oh, tea?"

                "Yes, thanks. Don't rush. There's not that much mail, which is surprising. Enjoy the lull. The summer postcards will fire up soon enough. Before that we'll have the graduation notices. Never ends." tie sorted postcards as though shuffling playing cards.

                Miranda brought her tea. She herself poured a bracing cup of coffee. Miranda had let Mim talk her into joining a coffee club, so each month she received another type of pricey coffee from France, Germany, Spain, Switzerland. This delicious coffee was from a fabulous cafe in Vienna.

                A light rap on the door, next to the animal door, brought forth "come in" from both women.

                "Hi." Susan quickly stepped in, for the rain had intensified. Have you ever?"

                "No," they said in unison again.

                "What are you two, a duet?" Susan laughed, shaking the rain-drops from her auburn hair, cut in a sleek pageboy.

                "Hogendobber and Haristeen. Has a ring to it. How about H and H?" Harry laughed.

                "That sounds like a candy." Susan breathed in the moist aroma.

                "Vienna." Miranda poured her a cup.

                "You'll be our expert. Next thing we know, Miranda, you'll open one of those upscale coffee shops where a cup costs three bucks."

                "It is outrageous but a good cup of coffee is special, especially lat first cup." A louder boom lifted all eyes to heaven. Miranda cast hers down first."Oh, Tucker, poor baby, it's all right." She knelt own to pet the shivering corgi.

                Pewter, deep in the mail cart, said in a high-pitched voice, "I don't like it either."

                Harry walked over to give love to the rotund gray kitty.

                "Chicken," Mrs. Murphy tersely criticized them.

                "Hateful bitch," Pewter promptly replied.

                "I'm glad I don't know what they're saying." Harry laughed."Hey, we all went coon hunting last night with Jack and Joyce Ragland. Got soaked. Hunted until the storm really hit, but it was a great night anyway. The voices on those Ragland hounds are something special. Goose bumps. I didn't get home until one this morning."

                "You didn't shoot any, did you?" Miranda hated the thought of shooting animals.

                "No."