Wet Mailboxes

Jerry was the kind of man who fixed things, things he didn't know how to fix, things that did not yet need fixing; if it was broken or perhaps about to be broken, Jerry was there fixing it. Sometimes there were things he could not fix the first time around, things that kept breaking. He would occasionally deem those things unfixable. But Melinda, Jerry's wife, could count the number of times he had stopped trying to fix a thing easily, if she could remember those times; they were so few that they sort of just slipped out of her mind.

He was currently battling one such thing: their mailbox. It leaked, and had done so for twenty-odd years, off and on. Every so often the rain was blow just right on the wind and find a way into the mailbox, where a few letters or a magazine would soak up the water. Jerry could not leave the problem for the next sideways rain that might happen in six or seven months.

"Other people must have wet mailboxes," he proclaimed over a plate of biscuits and gravy. "There for someone has found a way to fix them and I will too."