Postcards From The Edge

Some days, editing a post down to five-hundred words is the challenge.

Not today. Not this morning.

Not since an hour ago when I fired up instagram and saw a picture of Caroline, my ex, with two of my daughters and a couple old friends I’ve known thirty years.

It was a group shot, probably taken by a waiter, at the restaurant.

A grey storm cloud overwhelmed me instantly.

I began mourning my losses. I felt like Marty McFly at the “Enchantment Under The Sea dance”, when be begins disappearing from a photograph because his parents haven’t met and fulfilled their destinies.


That’s a bit dramatic. But it really isn’t far from how I felt staring at Instagram.

For two decades the five of us, Caroline and our three girls, traveled abroad with another family. They have four kids. Minimally, ten of us, usually eleven, on the road. Our friend’s son, Carl, the only boy amongst the kids, brought a buddy along when he was younger, a girlfriend when he was in his late teens.

We went to Europe a number of times. Rented houses that could fit the whole group.

These trips are some of my fondest memories of my life. And now all I can think is we will never do it again. We will never have a family vacation, much less an adventure of that scale.

The five of us, my wife and three daughters will get together at major holidays, at weddings. Funerals.

This is a bad morning.

Luckily, I had a great Sunday. One of my best friends was in town for six or seven hours and we made the most of the time. A great lunch in the Penn Quarter of DC. A visit to the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery and the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

We walked at a very healthy pace. Neither my friend Robert, nor I like to linger, so our museum visiting rhythms are simpatico.

Then we made our way, via Metro, to Union Station to visit the obscure Smithsonian Postal Museum.

There’s an exhibit about Frank Warren, an artist who started soliciting people around the world to send him postcards, with one condition. The postcard had to contain a true secret.

He started a blog about the postcards. So far he has received over 500,000 postcards and  his blog has 700-million hits. Check it out. here.

I’m feeling better now.

Not great. But visiting the postsecret blog site and reading other people’s secrets reminded me how many curves there are in the journey I am undertaking, how sometimes the road seems to go backwards.

It is okay for me to mourn. I just can’t let it control me.

11 thoughts on “Postcards From The Edge

  1. What’s the secret? I’ll never find the beginning. The scroll bar looks like it’s getting to the end and it rolls back even more. Aaargh! Tell me you’re really a mail order catalog guy that blogs crazy stuff to fill his work day. Or maybe I having link into a Kaufman film. Hello? Hello? I know there’s a camera here somewhere. HELLO?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I hafta say, I admire your patience. I wonder if anyone other than you has actually ever read a previous post of mine. Hold on…lemme see how this works.

      Okay, when I go to posts, the scroll bar populates with a few posts and then some more, and eventually, you can scroll all the way to the beginning of my little saga which I may start calling “Game of Thorns.” (I discuss my dyslexia somewhere in here.)

      I gave up on mail order when Elaine left J.Peterman.

      Keep those random thoughts coming! You are on your way to becoming the Edward Estlin (E.E. to friends) Cummings of wordpress comments.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It’s either you, or Kurlansky’s 2015 book on paper. Since I’ve read his other books on salt and cod, you seem new. LOL You need to put up the “archives” tool in your side bar.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Kurlansky’s book on paper? Lemme know if it worth a read. I don’t read a ton of non-fiction, though I guess as I find myself drawn to Buddhism that sorta qualifies.

        I’m going to work on the site theme right now. Or right later. But soon. Thanks!

        Liked by 1 person

      3. Kurlansky is always worth the read. He takes you on a journey through history and across numerous territories. Salt was excellent. It’s more creative non-fiction than just non-fiction – that makes me think of academic writing, and who wants to read that dry stuff.

        Liked by 1 person

      4. I was making a salt joke. My jokes tend to be a bit too granular. (In reality, cooking is one of my passions. I don’t write about it in here because that would be all I ever wrote about.) Salt…dry? Tough audience.

        Liked by 1 person

      5. What blew me away about Birdman was not knowing anything about it and then discovering Raymond Carver being at the core of the story.

        Mr. Carver’s works occupy a lofty echelon amongst the short story writers I worship. A lofty echelon, I say.

        Liked by 1 person

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