contagious

My regular mail carrier has kidded me about receiving next to no mail here for eight years. He knows I use a post office box but it doesn't stop his teasing...and I like that. Our informal connection and occasional banter over the years have also made it easier for me to take advantage of his willingness to take any outgoing mail that I leave clamped onto my mailbox these days.

He is sparing me the exposure I'd face venturing just the couple of blocks to our small post office and encountering anyone along the way. He's making my stay-at-home situation easier at what could be his own expense as an "essential" worker.
 
So today was another in our newly familiar routine. I heard him clump up the front steps and wrangle the one envelope from my trusty office supply pincer. It also gave me enough time to hustle to the door to catch him (at a safe distance) and thank him in person. He doesn't expect but certainly deserves it - along with his colleagues - many times over.

Halfway across the yard, he waved and tossed over his shoulder, "There's a package on your chair." Sure enough, and I'd have overlooked it there, safely tucked out of the gale force wind. I knew just what it was too.

A friend had offered and then followed through by making a couple of fabric face masks for me. I'd overcome my momentary hesitation and polite reluctance to say, "I won't stand on ceremony but say Thank you so much, and Yes, please." Done. And here they are three days later.

I've just thanked her again and am a bit surprised by the reaction a few bits of cloth are provoking in me. Not just any old scraps of course, one of these two custom-crafted masks is a luscious watercolor melange of cobalt, turquoise, and dappled forest greens, and the second a barely there aqua. Their beauty aside, what strikes me is how very soothing they are which is saying a lot about an accoutrement meant to conceivably save lives. 

And that's when I'm suddenly, surprisingly touched. Two people: one a casual albeit friendly acquaintance who knows little about me other than from an occasional return address or what I'm reading on the porch in summer; the other a close friend of twenty years who knows so much more. Nonetheless both of them are looking out for me in their own distinctly warm ways.

Then just as suddenly I recognize that the feeling washing over me is a symptom of being touched by their kindness. It's also relief.