At the risk of sounding as if I’m 105 years old, I remember a time when visiting a Canada Post building was a joyful experience. I should clarify; no, not the never-ending, always busy, frustrating experience winding up in a tizzy! I recall the massive, cave-like rooms which echoed with even the softest of footsteps. There was brass everywhere, wickets likened to those found in the fanciest of banks. Those days are left in the halls of time, replaced by teeny-tiny postal counters at the back of a pharmacy or facsimile thereof.
When I came to Chicago, imagine my sheer delight when discovering the United States Postal Service (USPS) has not swapped its capacious structures for those no larger than a postage stamp! The above photo is a mural located in a USPS building. My first thought upon surveying this painting was, “What the heck does it mean?” And then I grinned. It was followed by a smile. Lastly, a laugh (quietly, keeping in mind the building with its echoing edge at that moment). My next thought was, “Who cares!” My stamps are not flanked by boxes of cold remedies and rubbing alcohol, or the bargain bin at the back. No, I get to think about planting crops, which, according to the mural, will help me break out in poetry and song.
Re-string that fiddle, we’re going for the mail!
The Chicago Files 