Went to the downtown post office for two booklets of Forever Stamps ($18, incidentally). Arrived at one-thirty and was the fourteenth person in line. There are five windows but only one was open. Any wonder the p.o. is losing to other delivery systems? It seemed that no one ahead of me simply wanted a stamp. There were packages to be weighed, money orders to be written and something with a passport. I kept watching the clock and expecting other clerks to come running, but that did not happen. By two o'clock I was still back in the line and my stamina was beginning to waiver. I wanted desperately just to sit down on the floor for a moment. Then I heard some comments of concern from behind me and saw back in the line a welcome familiar face--Deb Ritchey, a friend and patron of many years. She knew of my health problems and could see I was in distress. Her promise to get me home if I collapsed gave me that little nudge of confidence that I needed and I persevered. (The clerk avoided what could have been a riot by telling a woman attempting to jump the line that she had to wait her turn.) It took another fifteen minutes but I did eventually get the stamps, and by that time the line behind me was just as long as it had been when I joined it . . . The latest issues of TheBurg and Central Voice have arrived and are available to you . . . As to yesterday's post, both Bernie Pupo and Tom Leonard were able to identify Michael McGeehan as the man who planted the bulbs along the street . . .