I prefer to receive mail and news delivered in a wooden box attached to our home, one that I decorated with Renee, which is firmly pushed when I save paper from it for six weeks a week at 5:30. I feel that this experience is far superior to mail and news delivered to my inbox every day of the week with a boring ping, giving it a wonderful bell.
A lot on my answer, the email comes every day of the week in any and all hours, minutes and precise seconds of the day, while the mail arrives in a wooden box only once a day at a certain time, in all days that do not start with "S" if it is in general – and sometimes only if flyers from religious communities and fast foods are counted.
Despite my preferences, it seems that I chose a bad time to become a companion in an attempt to increase the volume of mail in the wooden box and "use the correspondence to make and keep a friend," as Merriam-Webster's definition of pen state. This autumn, I reconnected myself with my first cousin, Colleen Blair Pike, who was my age and I grew up 20 minutes from me. For some reason, we never knew each other. Mostly, it seems to me, our dead fathers were brothers who, apparently, do not worry about each other, so our families did not mix. I could make a mistake and I can reveal its perspective in the proposed written correspondence exchanged between her stay in New York and my hand, unless a postal strike in this country puts off our plans.
If this is the case, I can easily fill my time by answering people who are waiting, sometimes patiently (hopefully) for months, in my usual inbox. However, some of those patients can wait a long time if they are one of many who leave the first "r" from my name when they invite my personal email address. If this is the case, it will end up in the receipt "close, but without a cigar" by one Deidre Pike, who also has a Gmail account using his real name.
Although we have never met, Deidre and I are random keys, people who do not know, but share their stories about their lives through electronic correspondence. Just because Deidre took the time one day to see if he can determine whose receipt, because the strange but sometimes seemingly important messages really need to be burned.
My name is Deirdre, rhymes from Beer-tri, but it does not matter. I can stand in front of some people and say with all the clarity, excuses and a book that I can find out, "My name is Deirdre." And they will say with absolute certainty: "It's nice to meet you, Dei-dre." Then they sent me an email to follow and they wrote that they said that and ended up in California.
It is interesting that Deidre is a professor in journalism and mass communication in Humboldt (yes, as well as Saskatchewan). We often thought about the mistake that connects us now. She recently sent me some email, and I asked her if she was safe wherever she was in California. She was safe, and her friends, even though they lost a house and some stables.
So, even with a strike from Canada, I will be able to keep in touch with the people it cares about.
The more I am interested in the impact of this potential strike are charity organizations that are so dependent on the generosity of the discovery this year and often agree to the way they check in their mailboxes.
These are non-profit businesses, which are trying to provide services to vulnerable people in our communities, which they care for. Potential loss of revenue affects important programs that depend on these donations.