Along with the miscellany in my brother’s house, I found a box of postcards. They belonged to my mother. And her mother. I recognized a few. The ski lift at Red River, NM. The Mississippi River trickling into Lake Itasca. An antlered buck from Shenandoah National Park. My scrawl on the back, “Camping in a tent. Rode the chair lift.”
Others. Not so much. Old Point Comfort, VA during WWII. Hand colored before mass-produced color photos. My mother traveled to see my father before he shipped out to the Pacific. To her mother she wrote, “The pool is closed now. We gathered shells on the beach. Save these cards for me.”
A flicker of the past. Loves I’ve lost to time. The postcards were too precious to toss, but with so many boxes in the attic, I had to find a way to live them.
Clothespinned to a chicken wire frame, the cards are now the window treatment in my bathroom. Every day, they make me smile.
2 thoughts on “Send Me a Postcard, Darling”
Very clever idea.