Texting replaced the postcard mostly, and I have a shoebox full of old postcards from long-departed relatives about the happy afternoon spent in Pasadena or Lincoln’s home in Springfield or the Empire State Building. My people were reluctant to express happiness for fear it might be bragging but I love to think of them writing about the “lovely day” they spent walking around Springfield.
The box needs to be discarded but I love my mother’s penmanship. I will recognize it even when I’m deep into dementia and have forgotten the street names of Minneapolis (Aldrich, Bryant, Colfax, Dupont, Emerson, Fremont, etc.). I come from serious people but when they wrote postcards they were always happy. Look in my shoebox, see for yourself.
The daily pursuit of happiness