Or so the envelope said. The return address (I looked it up) was the HQ of the Council on Foreign Relations.<\/p>\n
My correspondent has a sense of humor.<\/p>\n
Based on what was in the envelope, my correspondent can call him or herself Rockefeller, Gates, Buffett, Rothschild, Medici, Windsor or anything else great heart desires. It would fit!<\/p>\n
In their own world, they must have Rockefeller-level pull. They somehow talked their local post office into sending the priority envelope without either a postmark or the required tracking sticker. (Hilariously, this put my postmaster into a high huff. She was ready to write a nastygram to the postmaster of “New York 10065,” informing them that they’d broken the law<\/i>!)<\/p>\n
So, with no means to identify Mr. or Ms Rockefeller, or even have a clue as to where in this vast land their secret Lair of Largess might be, I can only say an inadequate wow. An inadequate doublewow. And an inadequate thank you.<\/p>\n
Up goes that last remaining, recalcitrant section of roof. And off my heart and shoulders comes that rather heavy burden.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Or so the envelope said. The return address (I looked it up) was the HQ of the Council on Foreign Relations. My correspondent has a sense of humor. Based on what was in the envelope, my correspondent can call him or herself Rockefeller, Gates, Buffett, Rothschild, Medici, Windsor or anything else great heart desires. It would fit! In their own world, they must have Rockefeller-level pull. They somehow talked their local post office into sending the priority envelope without either a postmark or the required tracking sticker. (Hilariously, this put my postmaster into a high huff. She was ready to…<\/p>\n