Every now and then Stan Laskin, a Napa resident and reader whom I've never met, sends me an e-mail that brightens my day. Those messages lay bare the pomposity of the politically correct world we find ourselves in and get us back down to Earth for just a little while.

Stan recently forwarded a message that was sent to him by his 12-year-old granddaughter, Emily from San Rafael. The title was "Why?" The note's choice of truisms gave me hope that not only will our youth find their way in this world, but they will do something toward straightening it out.

The message opened with the question of why can a pizza get to your house faster than an ambulance? Then, why are handicapped parking places painted on the ground in front of skating rinks? Good questions!

On it went, with "Why do druggists make the elderly and sick walk to the back of huge stores to get a prescription filled while younger and healthier people buy their cigarettes and pulp magazines right up front?"

To these cogent thoughts I'll add one of my own. Why are folks on long lines at Safeway, Lucky or Nob Hill allowed to use a credit card to buy a single bottle of cola or one soft pretzel?

Emily's e-mail continued with, "Why does a calorie-conscious person insist on a Diet Pepsi to go along with his or her order of a double cheeseburger and a large bag of fries?"

Oh, and "Why does a bank leave both doors open and the door to the safe deposit box area ajar, yet chains down five-cent, made-in-China pens to the counters?"

I also enjoyed this one: "Why do we buy hot dogs in packages of 10 and buns in 8-packs?"

Good question, but suddenly the message shifted from one kind of baloney to another -- the subject of politics. The note pondered where the term politics comes from, and opined the word described the process quite well -- poli meaning "many" in Latin, and tics defined as bloodsuckers.

Hardly the term our honorables would want to be labeled.

The last "Why" was a bull's eye we Napans live with every day: "Why do we leave our cars worth thousands of dollars out on our driveways exposed to scorching heat, winds, rain and the ever-present predators hoping to make a score, yet we fill our garages with boxes of junk?"

I don't know what gets your goat, but after 10 years in the Napa Valley, two of the items mentioned above really ring my bell.

In the matter of handicapped parking places, painted in Dodger Blue, of all colors, here in the Valley of the Giants, it's not the car in that reserved spot near the door of a super whatever that throws me, but the person or persons alighting from those cars. I've never seen so many healthy-looking handicapped drivers in my life. One of them I'll never forget.

It was the day about five years ago when Wal-Mart opened on Lincoln near Soscol, on what I recall as a drizzly, gray day. There I was observing the mob scene in the parking lot, and I was reminded of those words, "Never will you see a better demonstration of man's inhumanity toward man unless you visit a super store's parking lot on opening day."

In the course of 15 minutes I saw two fender benders, with frenzied drivers dueling for a single parking space, and numerous arguments over who got there first -- with one woman actually swinging her large bag at other combatant.

But the best was yet to come.

A guy about 40, built like an athlete, wheeled into a disabled parking space in front of that store. There was nothing shy about the guy as he jogged from the car, passed me and went on inside. Oh, and I nearly forgot, he wore a sweat suit with the words "USA Olympic Team" across the chest. I looked at his car with the blue disabled pass displayed, and if I still had a summons book like I did when I was with the N.Y.P.D., I would have zinged that sterling citizen in a heartbeat.

The other matter, that of leaving cars in the driveway while our junk is tucked away inside the garage, is a matter that is not really a homeowner's fault, but it's an eyesore nevertheless.

A dozen years ago, when my wife and I were still strangers and visiting Napa for the first time, I asked my daughter, who lived and worked here, why two to four autos seemed to be parked in front of every house in town.

Jean quickly explained that unlike Queens, N.Y., with our basements and full attics, you've got to get used to garages serving as basements and attics out here. And that meant cars parked outside.

So to the last question, unless you're not a collector, or you own only one car as we do, storing boxes in the garage leaves little room for a car.

Thanks Emily for your "Why?" list and thanks grandpa Stan Laskin for sending the list on to me.

(Parker can be reached at evjenpar@mailbug.com or 224-9956.)