''Do you know how many people I had to let know that I have a new address?'' Aunt Dee demanded. ''And that's not counting my family and friends, who are all telling each other so I don't have to.''

''Did you notify your post office branch?'' I asked .

''You'd think that would be enough,'' she snorted. ''But that change runs out in a few months, and then they just send your mail to the address on it, where I don't live any more. I remember when I first moved into that Great Neck apartment I kept getting mail addressed to a Minna somebody, who was probably dead, since she never came to ask for her mail.''

''What did you do with it?'' I inquired.

''I went to the post office and told them that if I get another letter addressed to Minna I would read it,'' she said. ''I didn't get any more. Either they were afraid Minna would sue, or whoever was writing to her stopped, never getting any answer.''

''So whom do you have to notify of your new address?'' I asked.

''My bank. My accountant. My credit cards. My clubs. My driver's license. My landlord. The telephone company. The electric company. The cable company. My Medicare. My insurances. And that's only a few.''

''How can I help?'' I felt impelled to ask.

''If any more letters come from people that I forgot to give my new address, I'll let you know, and you can let them know where I am now,'' Aunt Dee said gleefully. Well, it wasn't so much to ask in return for all that wonderful chicken soup.