I’d sent off about 25 postcards by the tenth of January. W and my mom were the only people who’d responded. Not that they’re chopped liver, but, well, you know. I never doubted they’d write back.
Then, by chance, I talked to Charlie on the phone, and he said he loved my postcard campaign, and described how he’d had every intention to run right out and buy one and mail it to me but then, well, he and his lovely wife Sarah are having a baby soon and very busy and somehow it just went from an intention to a nice idea and then ….
Yeah.
Like that.
But I would not be disillusioned! No. I still had 75 postcard stamps and I wasn’t going to be one of those people who only wrote when written to.
(You know those people, don’t you? The tally-takers of society. I paid last time, it’s your turn. I’m not calling her again until she calls me back. It’s his turn to invite us to dinner. Tedious, no?)
I will write postcards without reciprocation! I just sort of hoped… but come on! This isn’t about me filling my mailbox – no! It’s much nobler than that. It’s about saving a government agency that’s rife with nostalgia – Pony Express, anyone? – shoot! It’s about preserving a way of life if you think about it!
Okay. Maybe that’s blowing it out of proportion.
I’ll console myself with this notion, that everyone I know is paying it forward, writing to someone – anyone – after a little postcardial prod from me.
Meanwhile, I’m treasuring every bit of mail I get from W and my mom.
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