From deep in the bowels of Phoebe's library I heard the long-overdue birthday present shout, "The Minersville (Utah) post office parking lot is empty!"
I made a u-ee and screeched in.
No one was in line behind me so when Michelle, the Postmaster, asked where I was from I blamed Nurnberg and tacked on the bits about an early childhood in Japan & some formative years in Germany.
By way of excusing my lack of accent (and lend cachet to my Chicago twang), I 'splained my first language was English, 2nd was Japanese and that it wasn't until age 7, late in life, that I began learning German.
Suddenly bidding me stay where I was she said, "I have something for you."
This has, at least on one occasion, prefaced my being on the wrong end of a pistol. But my fears were unfounded as, turning quickly, she took two steps away and returned with a beautiful loaf of home-made bread.
Ardent sentimentalist that I am, I immediately began to tear up. And then, whilst wrangling the emotional storm of gratitude, I did my best to pay attention as she told how it was sourdough, her favorite.
Michelles are AMAZING!
And it only barely survived through the night!
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