Next on Seinfeld: Mailmen are closet mailbox critics

Our mailman knocked on our door today since he had a package for me. I answered the door to receive the package and the mailman paid a compliment to our new mailbox:

"I like your new mailbox. It is much nicer looking than that old one."

"Yeah, it's a little smaller than the other one. I hope that works."

"Well, you don't receive a lot of mail. But there are heavy mail days and the smaller boxes just can't handle it."

"I went for the cheapest box." Pointing to the old box on the ground next to some bird droppings and a broken egg, I continued, "The birds were making a nest out of that one. I just wanted to get one that could close its lid." (Not to mention had the same bolt configuration. I didn't want to drill new holes in the wall to accomodate a different shaped box.)

"I suppose you get what you pay for. Next time when this one wears out, you should consider getting the longer box, instead of the deeper box model."

So, that's how it ended. He began with a compliment and ended with a critique of our new mailbox! He must have a lot to say about mailboxes. I bet that mailman walks around the neighborhood evaluating homes by their mailboxes: "Egads. Get a new mailbox, bud." or "Now this is a man who knows his mailbox." or "Hey, Fred, on the Bradford route, what did you think of the Johnsons' mailbox? Don't ya just wanna stand on their porch all day, taking mail out and putting mail in. Smooth, huh?"

the diplomacy of silence

The dreadful sign language of silence is deafening.
My ears look for justice;
they grope in darkness for truth spoken through love.
I whispered in her ear. At first, a wishing well.
Then with time, a room crowded with "Hello?"
A deep, rocky chasm that only answers in Echo,
returning my whisper as desparate shouts. vomit.
Its darkness swells as does the womb of Sheol with the dead.
forever they kick against its uterus.
Teach me, St. Job, your wisdom, your patience.
Or should I not let silence take so long to say "so long"?

O my soul, His silence is but a breath between His words.
He is patient with your banter, courteous not to interrupt.
Father, forgive the foolish words I've multiplied, so full of me.
Yes, my words return to haunt me, because they seek me and my glory.
I shut my mouth now; I listen for You with silence.