I haven't had a dry mail day yet. Knock wood. And I'm not too far behind with answers either. Knock wood. And it's such good mail. It's like good hair. I always respond to that silly good hair nonsense with "If you were bald, any hair at all would be good hair." So in that vein, even returned mail is good mail. *grin* I'm kidding. I haven't missed a day with mail "in" and I've seen only a couple of no-mail-"out" days. One night this week I forgot to leave outgoing in the out mail box, so I can't even blame JC for that one. Sorry JC. I blame you and Uncle Frank for everything that goes amiss or awry. Now you know. *hug*
Do I ever tell you how I get some of the best mail on the planet? I can never tell you enough so I hooked up the scanner last night, and it works! Show, don't tell, right? I printed a handful of homemade postcards just for fun. But one of the most fun things to ever exit our mail box was a trio of Trivial Pursuit game cards! Ta-da! They're from the very clever L. R. in Georgia. And guess what. I knew the correct answer to only TWO questions! I laughed. I laughed at myself! I laughed so hard it didn't matter that I didn't know the answers. Heck I didn't even know such questions should be asked. *grin* I didn't know the Miami Dolphins even had an Honor Roll. Did you? And I've never read Casanova, but I do know he was an old school player from way back before there were public schools. I wiped Woody Allen from my data bank way back when . . . Way back before he married his step-adopted daughter. I had to laugh over the enema question too, but laughed good and long because had I told JC how low I scored, he would have laughed loudest, and he wouldn't have been laughing with me. *grin* Thank you, L. R.. I've never played Trivial Pursuit.
I've read this before though, or heard it before, and it's remarkable or serendipitous, depending on how you look at it. But the African fable of how the tortoise cracked its shell is one that keeps blipping on my radar. I've seen an animated version on television! Then this postcard came in the mail, making it the third turtle/tortoise poke, and Anna mentioned "The People Could Fly," in a recent letter--a title I deliberately avoided buying all those years ago, although it's illustrated by two of my favorite artists. Sorry for the long convolutedness, but in order to move, I have to stick my neck out. And now I've lost my train of thought because I had to get up to search for the book, since I wanted to take a picture of the cover. *sigh* I blame the rain, the promise of rain, and the eclipse. *grin* I believe it's time to shuffle along.
Someone sent me a lovely note written on one of the prettiest notecards. I gave several boxes as gifts for my Christmas in July, and forgot to keep a box for myself. Thank you, Mama King! I'm fond of trees and birds and grasses and pretty much everything that grows and lives and showers us with colors. I believe colors were created to make the sun so happy it keeps shining on us, even in winter. It's always shining!
And there's this. I always always always hold my breath when I see this envelope. Katy is always always always spelled with an R because my handwriting is so shitty my K looks like an R, and I don't even care.
And if I could? If I could, I would paper my wall with every sheet I've even gotten and will get. And Ryosuke Cohen, mail artist, is a mind in a body I wish I could meet. In person. I'll settle for that bad ass artist stamp instead. Talk about cool? It's the epitome. Thank you, RC.
I feel like a letter-writing fiend lately. I'm beginning to worry though. What'll I do if I answer every letter? How will I live with an empty In Box? Seriously? When's the last time that happened to you? It's like living between seasons of "Game of Thrones"
If this comes back, I promise you I'll eat it.
I don't know why, but I like this so much . . . Cool dude. That's it.
It's so old the glue doesn't work. The lavender paper is almost gray. It's from my stint in South Carolina. This is what over-twenty-years-old stationery looks like. Yet vintage writes just as well as new. Maybe better?
A reply to a letter written in July. It feels good this getting caught up. And I do try to give as good as I get. Rain is a distraction. Earthquakes next door demand equal billing. I don't think I've ever had a letter from Mexico. Or India. Erin sent mail from France each time she's vacationed there. Mail from South Africa sent my heart fluttering. I kept that postcard on my desk for almost a year. It's in a journal now, on a shelf in my studio, behind a little door with a glass inset.
I've written to some of you about it. You've been very kind, listening to my heartache and intense empathy, and you've given me much heart's ease. Thank you. Healing is in sight. I've been able to help some in need, and one way I scab over trauma is by drawing. But how can you draw what you cannot imagine? You do the best you can.
I colored the little bird on the left a lovely shade of blue. It's the Blue Bird of Hope. It's trauma simplified. Because had I captured half of what's reality for so many . . . I'd still be drawing. I've never drawn an earthquake either. But I can try.
come and go
in my daily mail.
There's rain in the forecast.
Be well. Write mail. Hell is flooded.