Bring it all together with a cappuccino + desk full of stationery and postcards = therapy

Sending treats to friends and strangers hoping it will transmit a virtual hug, via #Airmail. Today’s batch includes Latvia, Singapore, Olympia, Logan, Mexico and who knows where else… How are you feeling? Do you need a treat? If so, fill out the “postal club” form.

Letters and postcards aren’t the only way to send a delightful dispatch to a distant friend

Of course, letters and postcards aren’t the only way to send a delightful dispatch to a distant friend… as another Canadian said “the medium is the message” as such, message depends on the medium. As such, choose the medium for your message to evoke emotion and put the story, no matter how brief, in a pleasing context.

Most critical part of postcards / letters are: a proper address and a friend to write

Of course, the most critical part of postcards and letters are: a proper address to send it to, and a friend to write.

Also, I like to think about all the hands which touch the card as it makes the journey from my writing desk to a happy (I expect) recipient who peeks in their post box / letter slot and see something other than a utility bill or an bulk/junk mail from a real estate agent.

I also wonder how the “hand off“ in international mail works from one country to the next. Do the workers peek at the – almost illegible – scribble on my postcards? Do they wonder who wrote the missives and who the recipient is? . Do you think about these logistics & vagaries? Or is it just me? .

74th Birthday Letter to Mom

Well Mom, it’s your birthday.

Of course, you’re on my mind today, but also every other day. Of course I miss many things about you but mostly just the ability to call and catch you up on my life and have you cheer me along on my challenges and adventures. Your sing- songy voice going “oh son, that sounds fantastic, such fun!” So here’s your update…

Still, I’m trucking away at challenges and having adventures. I get Blue sometimes/often for sure… Missing the “old me” – even though I know its useless thinking and there’s many things about that part of my life that were not sustainable and decisions I could’ve made that would’ve been slightly more sensible – but I miss having energy to get up and  face each day with optimism and enthusiasm. Instead I wake up confused, exhausted, anxious and in pain. However, whenever this happens, I remind myself that I’m off all medications, I’m still out here in the world, making friends and trying to make the lives of strangers a tiny bit better. Just like you taught me.

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Friendly Dehli Wanders – Postcard #71

Postcards from Gravelly Beach – Friendly Dehli Wanders

First reflecting on Funiculars, Dave then reads works by poet friends from far-flung points including: Sohaib Ahmed recounting escaped love and lights, Adam Burningham examining towns atop streams, Amber Case on a languid roadtrip, and Robert Scales appreciating a sunrise and oblivion – plus music by guitarist Matt Harding and a rainstorm, crickets and cicadas from a porch.

Choose your transport for: Friendly Dehli Wanders – Postcard #71 (23:51, .mp3, 48MB)

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A Cartographer, I Considered

A cartographer, I considered:

Spectacled, heavy on a rosy face, hidden among stacks, drawing inventions of maps – delineating frontier is between playful apparatchik and fields where the healthy and husky scrambled games I couldn’t be bothered to learn the constructed rules of play.

Name in regions of gravel and grass in derivations of Iowa towns and possibly Balkan enclaves. Tracing roads across trucking routes and Roman ruins built to the width of chariot wheels-cemented as standards for mine entrance bringing a horse to Shores, away from CPS relations to new lives, absent from home still never know I can-beyond memories, Serio-graphed into filtered ideals.

Yet an unsteady hand and overall disconnect, or even indifference, which led to a place to “settle”-build a house dead June from cures logs, and seasoned by time, after hewn, nailed and assembled by saw blade and heavy sludge, forge by a possible cousin could always remain a stranger.

The blade remains anonymous as an un-muttered pithy quote en route to cliché.

Neither did exploding suns, brilliant and fleeting, assembled in patterns, ~ shared by the patient and measured in Newtonian units – still could not muster a journey – hence gazed, but ignored as impractical, nigh impossible.

Translucent ayers, super-imposed and stacked, detailing azimuths, trajectories and elevations – separating fertile valleys (thought subject to floods) from talus slopes too steep but for mountain rams on the shady flank of Timpanogos.

Dotted dashed and surveyed, specific dots explained in legend denoting assigned capitals, provincial outposts and occasionally hamlets determined by polled populations, overseen with constructed superintendents, supported by varying address of retainers.

Intrigued by absence of obvious order though not my task to chart.

Instead, as per instinct, selected committed to memory, devoid of context, thin slices of knowledge swirling in a petri vacuum – accurate as such but irrelevant

So i journeyed to wonder about likely motivations which took Normans, Pharaohs and troubadours beyond the point of unknown return. Capes left in wakes with dates and hard-track to fortify a quest alleged to diagram flora. Among them, I reference guide notes from decades past – a vague as possible to acquire allowing white-space and risk. Packed in burlap next to a survivor’s stove and pouch of seeds and spices and an important black pencil. Only planned to go one way, impartial to return rather to chronicle the unfamiliar.

The familiar left far behind as physics might allow – exchanged possible comfort in normalcy for uncertainty contentment in ambiguity. Meandering concentric routes, devoid of patterns or ready purpose.

Answers are easier in cliché, ergo:

“I’ll know when i get there” –
Town to creek to roadside conundrum – I swirled each in mouth , pretending my palette featured a vocabulary to explain to unseeing why I hadn’t settled for seemingly ideal locales, situations and specific circumstance to flourish.

Eventually, after farm toil, beach frolic, rough nights in dangerous morass, leaping turrets of ruins and painful heaving, missed junctions and forgotten aims, at a campfire in a lake-forest with a khaki-scout familiarity, I stumbled through an unfavorable gale, onto the intended coast

I mocked myself for mis-named non-discoveries, i assumed as fragrant promised lands of plenty allowed to the intrepid erstwhile accidental navigators.

Teased over misread hieroglyphics and misappropriated meaning to stone wheels quarried a far, hauled by double-hulled craft powered by taro and current and fickle breeze.

I could no longer mock with unearned disdain, the vaunted and faulted explorers, stolen secrets leading to some anomaly errantly pro-claimed as new or proper or divine.

Earnestly deterred, i occurred to was to map a universe of flesh and thought. Breath and sounds assembled into meaning.

The crease on cheek, the measure of brow, the angle of toes, magnitude of halo surrounding chameleon eyes and the mysterious enthusiasm of all which exists between.

Thwarted, not ny scenery but by shaking confessions, fumbled after a stealth crossing at an indifferent frontier town. I’d escaped to my holy land I presumed for an instant before minor catastrophe.

Stalled at an unwelcoming inn where i laid myself bruised and bare to a lover temporarily transformed to a stranger after i let the truth languish, vanquished by the uncertainty of resolved and fear or wounding the occasionally innocent.

She walked out vested, blithely, pithy saying “I know” unwittingly perhaps offering just enough loft to push a tattered sail across a colour-coded sea mis-named as somewhere calm.

The explorer hides. Alone, entirely lost and surrendered to fates incomprehensible to the battered. Uncontrollable b y the hostage. Yet clinging to an adrenaline determination to manufacture strength to another foray.

Monk-like, minus faith, discipline, dogma or skill at ringing bells, relying on rice gruel and fragrant hope, the cartographer gathered charcoal, fired for unsteady hands, and a redrew boundaries to conceive an entirely new Pangea with concessions to speculate, plunder and chart assigned exclusively to only two.

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