June 30, 2012

Dear Postcards . . .

I haven't always loved postcards. In fact I've downright hated them, for reasons that I now see are unfair. So, I've written a conciliatory postcard . . . to Postcards.


Dear Postcards, This bad blood between us has gone on for too long. It’s not your fault that you rarely say anything meaningful; it’s just the nature of the form. You can’t help it if you arrive three weeks late, usually after the sender has returned home, & that your trivial information is thus always woefully out of date. You’re a faded image, a piece of the past. Furthermore, it’s not your fault that—once upon a time—I received banal cards crammed with tiny, insignificant writing. Nor are you to blame for my pathetic analysis of those cards; the sender did not love me as I wished, & that is that.  It’s in the past now. Let’s forget it & move forward. Together, we can be interesting. Yours, Emily

And now I've got the Beatles' song, "Dear Prudence," in my head. And the Internet here is so slow that I fear uploading any more photos will take approximately the time it took some glacier to form this fjord we're in. So look for more postcards soon!

And remember, if you want to look for them in the meatspace mail, sponsor me in the Clarion West Write-a-thon.

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