365 True Things: 301/Postcards

I love getting postcards. They remind me of all the places I need (okay, want) to go in the world, or of places I've been. Some postcards are silly and make me laugh. Some postcards are artistic. Some are sentimental and snatch at my heart.

Over the years, I have enjoyed collecting blank postcards. I have a wild array of images, all neatly stacked in a shoebox. In the past, I even sent them to friends, with something deeply insightful scribbled on the back. Not so much lately, though.

Some of the 45 cards I received
from people all over the world

For six months or so a couple of years ago, I subscribed to an interesting Web project called Postcrossing: "Send a postcard and receive a postcard back from a random person in the world!" It was very fun. The postcards tended to be visually interesting, and what the random people chose to write about themselves, likewise. Since I'm a writer and into visual imagery, I had a good time matching their published profile to my box of eclectic postcards.

But . . . these were just random strangers. And I've got enough to keep me occupied right here with friends, family, and colleagues. So I let the project lapse. It's there waiting, if I choose to reengage.

The bottom two (Stockholm and
the Dolomites) are from my old
friend Ulla, a traveling fool;
the top one I sent to my mother
from Namibia, where we were
rock climbing (but with ropes
attached where they should be)

Whenever a new postcard arrives in my mailbox—less and less lately, alas—I put it on the fridge. It reminds me of dear friends and of the big beautiful earth we live on. I like those kinds of reminders.

You? Send me a postcard! If you need my address, I'll be glad to give it to you. I'd love to hear from you. And if you'd like me to send you a postcard from my shoebox, just let me know.