Friday, December 16, 2011


"Hello Olive, How are you? Thought I would send you a postal to let you know I think of you once in awhile ... are you coming to the picnic Thursday? I may go for a little while in the afternoon, but will have to work in the forenoon. Don't forget to write." ~ Jina Perry

It's one of those nights, where everything outside of my walls doesn't feel right and so I find myself at home tonight, glass of Bordeaux red breathing nostalgia down my neck and the ink and paper, so to speak, before me. The above passage I found on the back of an old post card from an antique shop in Chardon a few weeks ago. Something about it stayed with me. My favorite part, "I thought I would send you a postal to let you know I think of you." Well, that and the use of "forenoon." I can't tell when the post card dates back to, but it was definitely written by an ink dipping fountain pen. You can see where she runs out and boldly comes back ...

The front of the card, yellowed along the edges, shows a couple, her arm intertwined with his as he stares at her lovingly, adoringly ... and she melts, melting him right back. The bottom reads: May your troubles be little ones.

The post card got me thinking about that time period in general, when instead of an email or text, you would buy something with a picture on it that conveyed what you felt as you took your personal touch, the detailed curves of your unique penmanship and ... just wrote. There is something to be said about old fashioned writing and the personal nuances it leaves behind in its wake; whether it's a postcard or letter, perhaps even just a piece of paper you wrote on to give to another for something seemingly mundane. Depending on who it's from ... sometimes, I bring it softly to my nose and breathe it in, catching a hint of that person's scent. Sometimes, if that's all I have, I commit it to memory for the harder days.

This postcard felt like it was casual, yet intimate in the subtlest way ... like a meaningful look passed between two people. It made me muse about who this woman was, who Olive was and what their respective stories unfolded into. It made me wish I could disappear for a day and go back to that time period to find out. And ... it made me long for that feeling again. The one where, a simple letter, note or postcard, a text, an email, a message ... the mention of a person's name, gives you butterflies. And when those butterflies come to fruition, spreading warmth throughout your entire body from the love you feel for that person. For me, unfortunately, it has oftentimes ended in heartbreak. But in general, it's what I live for ... and yes, while it only merely starts out as butterflies, it has the capability of transforming into other amazing things, and those are the things I crave -- though hopefully one day without the heartbreak.

I imagined this Perry woman sending that postcard and waiting, fervidly, for Olive's response. Would he say he thinks of her, too? Would he reject her and just be polite about it? Perhaps they are merely friends and nothing more. Perhaps it is unrequited and she was a fool to believe otherwise. Regardless, it's fun to speculate. Before technology, it's hard to fathom waiting for a response from someone from the mail ... or from a messenger on a horse or carriage for that matter. I can't handle waiting a day, my body and mind assail me, let alone days or weeks. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for anticipation and hope. Both of which, I'm struggling to hold onto ... but both of which are vital for me to survive and go on. One is the drive, the other, the force behind it -- the light at the end of the tunnel.

Did Jina find her light? I hope so. I feel in the dark right now ... alone with the things in my heart, feeling my way around. But underneath my closed eyelids, I can sense the light somewhere. It'll find me one day, too.


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