My driveway got plowed out this morning so I went in to the village to get mail and a few things at the grocery store. My mail box was full as I hadn't been in all week. I got a bumper crop of magazines; my husband's farming one, 2 quilt ones and a Canadian magazine. I also got 2 newspapers, a cheque and the usual assortment of bills.
This infrequent mail forays is another contrast between my previous urban life and now. When we lived in Edmonton, I used to watch for the letter carrier every day and get miffed if she was late. I liked living in an area where we got morning delivery so my wait was shorter. I used to look on the letter carrier as a daily Santa bringing me little surprises. The fact that those surprises were usually bills or advertisements for stores where I wouldn't shop didn't seem to matter.
Now that we live here in the backwoods, I go to pick up the mail 2 or 3 times a week. The odd thing about this decreased interest is that I get more parcels and, therefore, should be checking more frequently. This is especially so as the greatest proportion of these parcels contain quilting supplies.
Of course, one of the main reasons I check the mail less frequently is that it is less convenient. In the city, I only had to reach out my front door while here, I have to get dressed, explain to the dog that I am only going to be a few minutes, clean off the car (in the winter) and drive the 10 kilometers into the village.
I think, however, that the real reason that I am no longer a mail junkie is that it no longer has the same importance. My life doesn't need anything to make it more interesting or enjoyable. Packages are nice but not as enjoyable as waking up to the sound of a loon. If we got mail delivery on our road, I probably would check each day but that would be more for exercise than the need to know what had arrived.