Monday, July 17, 2017

Swell Antique Postcards and Polish Ladies

Treasure hunting on vacation.

Day 1: I found some antique postcards at Buddhas and Beads and of course bought twelve of them.

Went back to house and enthusiastically shared with my family [Insert indifference from some and curiosity from others.] 

Discovered that 4 of the cards had notes on them from the same family. The Fox family. [Insert excitement on my part!]

Day 2: Returned to see if I could mine more postcard gold. Found five more notes from that family, and a few other gems.

(My personal fave had no writing on it - 3 Polish ladies, circa  1910.  What's not to love here?!)

Back to the Fox family:
It was fascinating to find a series of postcards from one family.  The dates started in 1908 and went through 1941.

My challenge to you [if you choose to accept it] is to write their story using the cards I found.

1908 to Mr. Harry Fox. The message just says "From, Fred." The picture is the Bowery in NYC and the postmark is Madison Square Station NY, 1908. 

1927 Postmarked Atlantic City:

(How about that picture!)

1928 (Mystery word? Name? Kessler?)



June 22, 1941

July 22, 1941

July 31, 1941

Sept 26, 1941

There's so much to think about here - locations, years, what had not yet happened (Pearl Harbor), what happened in the midst of these cards (WWI), who was who, international travel, those stamps!, what was said and not said...

Run with it - write their story!
(or some other project - it's CLMOOC!)

My reflections will be in a separate post - I did not want to clutter their story with mine.



  1. What an awesome challenge! Where's the time? Where's the time?

  2. The boys watched their grandfather slowly get out of the car. Sam, the older, jumped around and helped with the door.
    "You OK, Pappy?"
    "Fine. Just be a minute."
    The boys nodded, and watched him struggle with the door to the Antique Store. They were used to these adventures by now, although Pappy would not say what he was looking for.
    "I think it's a painting," Sam guessed.
    "Naw. What would Pappy do with a painting?" Emmett said, tossing the small ball to his older brother. The boys knew enough to bring along something to do. "I think it's a book. Something worth millions."
    Inside the shop, Pappy wandered slowly. He knew what he looking for.
    "Anything?" he asked the woman behind the counter. She smiled at him.
    "Box of them came in last week. Down the aisle, on the right."
    Pappy nodded, and shuffled forward. Time, he thought, plays cruel jokes on us. Time was running out and yet, he felt as if he were forever moving slower and slower. He could hear his grandsons outside, laughing. Good boys, he thought. I'm a lucky man.
    He found the box, and opened it slowly. Inside, the pile of postcards caught his attention. His fingers didn't work like they used to, bent now from age and from years in the machine shop. Each postcard was a struggle. He looked at the front, then flipped to the back. He was sure he would recognize the handwriting if he saw it.
    "I may have lost you," he whispered to the ghosts in the room. "But I aim to find you again."
    Each postcard was its own story. Each swoop of ink a connection to someone's past. What he was searching for was his own past, a message in the bottle long ago lost. He needed to remember her name. If only he could remember her name.
    "Pappy? You almost through? Emmett's getting hungry."
    The old man nodded. "A minute."
    The pile of postcards got smaller and smaller. He knew it was only a matter of time now. What he didn't know is if the time left would be enough. His fingers turned the last postcard in the bunch ...