Postcards from spring and summer

Sometime this spring, my two youngest grand-daughters had a school project to collect a few postcards from other people in the world. I put out the word to my friends and within days we were blessed by dozens of you, my friends, and friends of friends, taking the time to find a card, write a note to Brooklyn and Peyton, and mail them here to Napa CA USA.

The cards were highlighted on the elementary school library wall. One of their classmates exclaimed to me when I was visiting one day,”They have twenty five hundred postcards!” Not quite.image

Amazing. Love and hugs to all the good people out there.

Special thanks to those of you who then passed the word to your own friends. I’ve read each and every one. My heart is touched.

Apologies for taking so long with this thank you. I was traveling the past month, as soon as school was out, and was not home to picture this.

Once again, my faith in the goodness of strangers has landed smack in my lap. I hope to take time to use your addresses and send you some cards of my own.

This next photo is not near complete. Here are a few of my own postcards I wrote up on the road, had stamped in Canada and then, in an exhausted state of being, forgot to post them before crossing the border to the States.

I’m not near on top of things as the rest of you. I guess I’ll restamp them USA and get them off next week!

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Postcards in Paradise – Letters from Home

The postcard in my hand is so old I’d expect it to be worn and frail and downright unimportant.  It’s not, though.  It’s one more amazing golden star resting among years of memories.  Life and love that I’ve discovered again in a bin in the basement.

Cattle punching on a jack rabbit in Arizona

Cattle punching on a jack rabbit in Arizona

The cowboy doing his day’s work on the back of a jack rabbit still cracks me up.  Cristy’s words touch my heart, make me laugh and warm my toes.  Long flowing letters from Lynda fill my heart with joy.  I chew on my bottom lip and take a deep breath reading love words from a lover long gone.

For days now, I’ve been walking from the warmth of my home, across the driveway in the rain and into the dank basement.  Each trip, I grab one more plastic bin full of flashbacks to carry into my study.

Hand painted by Fleta Stephens

Hand painted by Fleta Stephens

I’m in no hurry as I bend over and pick up a memory, one at a time.  Photographs, loosely tossed  among letters and proclamations and typewritten resumes and newsletters.  Handwritten postcards and Christmas cards and birthday cards, sympathy cards.

Bent or broken picture frames, some empty, others as if they just fell off the shelf.  Drawings by young children and more than a pair of white leather baby shoes.

Three Baby Shoes

Three Baby Shoes

Sure, I have picture albums.  They sit on my bookcase.  They’ve been sitting around on my bookcases for years.  We look at them on occasion, friends and family.  And, yes, I have thousands of jpgs and pdfs and pngs in folders all over my computer.  I print them out often enough.

Memory Bins

Memory Bins

But the bins, that’s where the real treasure lives.  What draws me into the bins is not the written word or the color on the postcards, the letters, or the drawings.  It’s the love stretched across the years from one hand to another.

I’m afraid that all of our easily computerized ‘stuff’ could be depriving us of a future full of overflowing boxes and bins in the basement.  We need to hold those sentiments in our fingers, in our hands, as surely as we need to hold a book bound by stitching in our lap.

hat day yankees05122014So, today, before I completed this story to you, I wrote a letter to someone dear to me.  I’m going to lick that stamp and stick it in the top right corner of an envelope and send it off.  And then I’m going to print off this page, sign it and put it in a new book for someone to pick up years from now when they’re going through bins in the basement.   Maybe it will be me.

Are you missing that feeling of having a letter in your fingers, or a postcard from paradise?  Send me your address.  I’ll send you one.  From my hand to yours.  Who knows?  We could start a trend.

As for the bins in the basement, I have a plan.