Living in a postal desert and learning to do without

In these times of tumult and turmoil, our delicate thoughts turn to the issue of sustainable living. We do try. We prefer not to end up like the dinosaurs.

We respect anyone’s efforts to cut back on clutter, reduce a carbon footprint or keep gassy bovine vittles at a safe distance (there’s nothing worse than a methane cloud during the holidays). It’s not always an easy task by any means.

Our own tentative moves in this laudable direction flounder with regularity — packaged processed meats, six-packs of cheap canned beer, containers of various aromatic cheeses and salted potato chips, not to mention bottles of Dr. Pepper and Pepsi all make their appearance with too much regularity, with coupons in tow, naturally.

Fortunately, in a bizarre way, the U.S. Postal Service is here to help by teaching us to do without. Not necessarily on purpose, mind you.

The people who are supposed to deliver the mail somehow managed to avoid our Peninsula hovel for a 100-hour stretch last month. We weren’t alone.

Our entire block was given the cold shoulder by the quasi-government outfit. No one got mail. Not a sliver. Nothing. Zippo. Nada. We survived, but barely.

From 2 p.m. on a Saturday to 6 p.m. (evening delivery is a common occurrence) on a Tuesday, we went without a single piece of mail. That period of deprivation included a Sunday and a holiday.

Then came the real insult: A regularly-scheduled Tuesday delivery was simply a no-go, a blatant zero. No one seemed to give a rusty hoot.

Then, naturally, that Wednesday turned out to herald an avalanche of mail: letters, cards, magazines, bills, a newspaper, junk, political detritus, you name it. It cascaded into the garage through an overwhelmed mail slot. Better late than never, you might say.

This has happened before. So it’s nothing really new. We’re learning to live in an occasional postal desert. It’s the new normal.

We get by. We’ve stopped complaining to the authorities. What’s the point? “Mail? We don’t got to show you no stinkin’ mail!” We understand. We are adapting to live with less.

Our diligent pioneering efforts are coming at the same time PG&E has been cutting off electrical power to targeted swaths of Northern California, and there is a concerted move to ban the use of natural gas.

All in all, a journey to the quasi-Middle Ages is looking increasingly likely these days (and nights). Now, where did I put that charcoal and flint?

A 2020 last call

This is a last call for nominations for induction into the Peninsula Sports Hall of Fame in 2020.

The Hall of Fame honors local individuals (athletes, coaches, referees, administrators, etc.) who have stood out in the Peninsula’s sporting world. Next year’s induction event, the 30th since 1989, will be held in the spring at the San Mateo County History Museum in Redwood City.

Nominations can be sent to either of the addresses listed at the bottom of this column. Rational yielding After watching some of the positively nut-case driving habits of some of our fellow Peninsula neighbors (you may, or may not, know who you are), here’s a novel notion provided by one of our devoted readers: rational yielding.

In other words, when in doubt, let the other vehicle proceed. It’s the wise move and far less dangerous than anything aggressive.

You might even feel good about it.