I was hoping for a visit from Cimpher this weekend, but alas his plans have shifted and I’ll have to continue surviving this life without him for a little longer. I’ve hardly seen him since he moved across the pond… as far as I recall, only New Year’s eve a couple years back and one night in the foggy window of the Silhouette in Allston, MA. Maybe another time. For now, pen pals! That’s how we became friends, actually, keyboard pals, so this is somewhat fitting.
It occurs to me that I ought to buy some postage intended for international correspondence. I plastered another unsent postcard destined for Japan and there’s hardly room to write.
Oops, I meant to schedule this post for Thursday, but I accidentally posted it so I guess it’s happening now. There’s not a lot to say here other than this is one of my favorite films of all time, and I want to go see it a third time. If you live somewhere that it’s showing, SEE IT. Period.
This just reminded me of a round I learned in my music class when I was very young:
Coffee is not for me
It’s a drink some people wake up with
That it makes them nervous is no myth
Slave to a coffee cup
They can’t give coffee up!
It’s super fun to sing! But it’s a lie. I could stop at any time. If I wanted to. Ahem.
Regarding the content of this postcard, if you’ve never checked out my other blog (A Year of Days), please do. We back-post in fits and starts, but we take photos every single day. It’s a project I love, and I’m so pleased that Counsel is along for the ride.
For the record, the title of this post and the line within the correspondence refers to the darkest of MY photo days, not hers. I think I may have made that change on the postcard and failed to re-scan it.
March 11 was such a productive day. I managed to purge a bunch of stuff I’d been holding onto forever, I baked, I watched videos and read news and blogs about the one year anniversary of the Great Tōhoku Quake, and I still managed to write a bunch of postcards. I wish all days were like this (minus the mourning a tragedy part).
I love the image on this one… was it taken with a tilt-shift lens? I’m not sure.
I’m introducing a new vocabulary word here: jackleg. This is Georgia slang for somebody who is acting like a greenhorn but is old enough or experienced enough to know better. If he ever writes me back we’ll learn another one, ’cause what he calls me is pretty funny.
Here we have a straight up love letter to one of my best friends of all time. If I’m not mistaken, we’ve been friends for 24 years already. There aren’t words to explain my feelings for Robin, but I think it’s important to remind our loved ones that they matter in whatever clumsy way we can. Vive l’amazing friends!
I woke up to the sound of Bob Dylan on the radio this morning, so it seemed fitting to post this one today.
In case you can’t read that last line (stupid scanner), it says, “I look forward to witnessing your future contributions to the world!”
This marks the fourth postcard written to somebody who can’t read on their own (I’ve previously sent two to my grandma who is nearly blind now, and one to Owen, who is too young to read). What do you think, is this a strange habit I’m forming? Notes by mail to small children seems a little on the edge, but still legit. There’s a little bit of trying to push the past forward involved… by the time these kids are old enough to send mail of their own, the USPS may have dissolved in favor of a privatized system. Those of us with apartments may not be able to receive mail at our own homes in such a situation. These postcards could in the near future be relics of an old system! You know, if they actually hold onto them. Which I don’t necessarily advocate, because I don’t want my friends’ children to become hoarders.