Time was when the word “deliver” was followed by the word “from” or “of.” It meant to be saved or rescued. As in “Deliver us from Evil.” Or “She was delivered of a son,” which meant she survived childbirth.

Nowadays, we say, “What is your delivery date?” meaning when do you expect to give birth? Or “She delivered a baby boy,” like she worked for Amazon and drove down the block in a van.

I can remember when parcel deliveries were so few and far between that whenever we saw a UPS truck in the neighborhood we would sing out, “W-W- The Wells Fargo Wagon is a comin’ down the street. Oh, please let it be for me,” remembering tiny Ronnie Howard in The Music Man.

These days, so many delivery trucks drive down my block that the dogs don’t even bark at them any more. UPS, USPS, FEDEX, DHS, and now Amazon has its own blue-painted trucks with their big swoosh-arrow on the side. In fact, this evening, Amazon had gotten so far ahead of itself that my delivery was dropped off by a van so new that it was still factory white, yet to be painted. And the delivery warning I received this morning said my order would be delivered between 6:15 p.m. and 10:15 p.m. Jeeze!