Is there anything better than a postcard?
My dad is a pretty cool guy – he has played soccer all his life and continues to play twice a week. Recently, there was some friction with some of his newer team mates about their attitude, time people played and his age. He set everyone straight at the most recent match. Gave them a lecture from one of the founding members and taught them a thing or three about playing as a team and playing with heart.
They won – 8 to 3.
Go dad!
He has been, with his team, to some interesting places – Denmark, Denmark, Hawaii, Germany, Denmark (again) and is now going to Greece.
When I was a kid Mum would always remember to send me plenty of postcards – she also would buy some interesting ones to bring to me. Ok, I never really understood that, but it was neat that she was always thinking of me and bringing interesting postcards.
When ever any of my friends went anywhere they would send me a postcard.
I have postcards from interesting places – Hawaii, Denmark, Scotland, South Korea, Japan, Niagara Falls, Vancouver, Victoria, Nova Scotia, Thunder Bay, Boston and the city where I live – a particularly cheeky friend in the same city just saying “Hi!”
Postcards of the worst possible tourist tripe, with beautiful art, unique ones, standard ones, ones friends made over original postcards, ones with rude words hidden in the pictures, one with embroidery, ones with silly themes, ones made with crayons, ones made with paint and from magazines.
Postcard books featuring favourite artists, themes and movies were bought, ripped up and pasted on walls as art. When inspiration struck, a card would be taken from the wall, a person selected and then an interesting, amusing, romantic or mysterious message sent via postcard.
There was no pressure to fill a page, limited space, messages brief and often ended with “out of space!”
A postcard book of one favourite artist, filled up on the backs by a mini-novella sent away to a treasured friend.
My friends don’t send postcards now. We have other ways to keep in touch. I don’t miss postcards.
Sometimes I miss the bit of art, bit of pic, but not so much. It was never really about the art of the postcard – I like thinking about you, thinking about me while you are having fun on your trip.
I like this, this lack of postcards in my life is a-ok.
But, I’m still receiving postcards.
Not often.
Not regularly.
Enough to make me take notice when I do.
A scrawl I can’t always read – not every word, not on every day.
A way of leaving off the greeting, of jumping right into a stream of thought. The words rushed and seemingly dashed off without breath and sometimes without proper grammar. “toobusytotakeabreathoruseaperiodbuttinkingaboutyouandhadtowrite…”
The news is mundane – facts, only the facts.
No insights.
No news.
I read it.
I’m not sure why I’m getting this postcard.
Why stop in the middle of Las Vegas and pick out a stupid post card?
Why pull out a pen and address it?
Why my updated address on the tip of a pen?
Why bled ink on page without “hellos”, “and how are yous” or “hope you are fines”?
Why buy a stamp and a mail box and send this to me?
Why think of me at all?
I don’t like thinking of you, thinking of me while you are having fun on your trip.
The postcard now – a thing to cause paper cuts.
