I'm 72 years old, raised three children, worked hard all my life, buried my wife and retired when I couldn't drive my tractor-trailer safely any longer. I don't usually let things get me down. I hit the golf ball shorter, turn the TV up louder and walk a little slower. I've accepted these natural occurrences with grace and dignity. My problem is, I'm going through a period of mourning, or at least that's what it feels like. I'm trying to face it with courage, but I have lost my husband-and-wife team of Press delivery people.

Ron and Renate Clancy, of Villas, have retired. They delivered The Press for about 10 years. When I awake, I don't know exactly how my day will turn out. I'm not 100 percent sure of the weather forecast. But for 10 years, I knew one thing already had happened: My newspaper was on my front deck in that pretty blue plastic covering.

It didn't matter if the temperature was 6 below or 96, rain, sleet or blazing sun, my newspaper was going to be on my deck, no further than 10 feet from my front door. I experienced days when I didn't get any mail, but I swear I can't remember ever not getting my newspaper.

It's unreasonable to expect the new newspaper delivery person to be as good as the Clancys. Things happen, and I understand this, and I won't put the new person under the microscope. I'm even willing to give him one miss in the next 10 years, if the need arises.

But I hope my new delivery person is from the old school that the Clancys attended. To them, I say thank you for your dedication. And the best thing I can wish for you both, in your well-deserved retirement, is that when you get up in the morning, hours later than you previously had to arise, your newspaper is near your front porch. Thank you both.