Marjorie stood at the front window and looked forlornly outside at her mailbox. The bright paint had faded with years of exposure to the elements, but the box remained strong and dutiful despite its worn appearance. She still felt a twinge of excitement on her daily trek to retrieve the contents, even as her steps became less jaunty and more of a shuffle.
Oh, the things that mailbox had held over the years: birthday and holiday cards, mail-order catalogs, ladies’ magazines, reading material from her book of the month club, postcards from vacationing friends. Letters from family members were the best surprises, as far as Marjorie was concerned. Sometimes they held a treasured photographic update of how everyone had changed. Other times she received a letter that included a page written in a child’s scrawl.
