Postcards are a dying art form. Love letters too, letters period. And greeting cards.
I'm bringing correspondence back.
Hard to find postcards to purchase, unless you're in a coastal town or tourist spot. Thought the book store up the street might carry a few retro, mod fabulous cards in stock but no luck. Later a quick run through Walgreen's scored a "Boulder, Colorado" aerial money shot for just 27 cents, tax included. Mailed it back east, Pennsylvania bound, this afternoon to the grandson of a young old friend, part of his first ever kindergarten project.
Years ago on a trip to Bermuda we stopped into the local post office; one of us suggested we purchase and mail ourselves a postcard, a reminder of the trip to be delivered once home. I've kept mine five years now, tucked into the ribbon bound to the board next to my desk. A glossy, brightly pastel colored photo on the front and on the back it says simply, in my own handwriting, "Welcome home."
Imagine a love letter that said that. Written in pen.
I'm a fool for card and stationary stores. Can literally spend an hour browsing the shelves, opening and reading each one that catches my eye. The prose must be just that, no bad writing or cheesy sentiment and I stay away from those that rhyme, it's too easy. Often I make a second lap around the store, perhaps a third. I mail and give cards for no reason other than how pretty they are or that a recipient is on my mind. I choose super sparkly and embossed, last years holiday card the pinnacle of glitz - a stocking adorned with shiny jewels in pink and white and red, a string of feathers like a boa encircling the top. Cost more to mail each one and I sent a full box (plus another of a different design.)
One is never too busy to sit with a stack of cards, address and lick and stamp each, leave behind a small note and signature. Never. I address and mail my holiday cards the weekend after Thanksgiving and hope for many to fill my mailbox over the next month. I stand each one up in the house like a decoration.
Recently I left a small gold card with an even more gilded small honey bear bottle - the kind you squeeze out into your tea from - inside a medicine cabinet. The next morning he was reminded, "Honey I love you" on the front and inside that, "You make my life sweeter." He found it the next morning, embarrassed and busted that I knew he'd gone to bed without brushing his teeth. He doesn't throw away quickly. The first card I ever gave him - a Valentine - I found tucked in his utility draw in the kitchen. I was looking for tape.
There comes the moment, however, you must decide to keep or discard. I have cards tucked and pinned up, stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a sugar cookie, more in the small basket that holds things like receipts and the charger to the cell phone, extra keys and take-out menus. There are stacks bound with rubber bands in shoe boxes in the basement. Along with a few love letters. Just a few. Some even written in pen.
And plenty of room for more.