I collect Space Postcards. So, imagine my delight when Trish sent this one-of-a-kind card for my collection. I mean, I certainly don’t have anything like it. It’s big fun in Uranus.
But wait, there’s more. This one entertains the secret 12-year-old boy living inside me. Look at the description on the message side of the Having Fun in Uranus card. It says: Uranus, Missouri, on historic Route 66, is a family fun destination, world famous for its Fudge Factory and General Store. Explore Uranus in-person and online at UranusGeneralStore.com. Really. And go ahead and click on that link. Yes, there’s more. Here’s their postcard collection.
Trish also sent this Orange Meringue Pie recipe that looks absolutely delectable. I mean, I feel like this is in my future. It looks crazy good. If I were a deep-space astronaut, this would be what I’d want for space food on a mission to Uranus.
Finally, a special one from Trish because she and her 91-year-old grandpa bought this one for me. Her grandpa lives near the Bull Shoals Dam. I’ve visited that area; it’s really pretty there. Thank you so much to both of you.
Did I ever tell you about that? Nah, I probably didn’t. So, here goes.
Our adventure starts with OG and me as we meandered through the labyrinthine side streets of Fez, Morocco. We had just arrived in town a few days earlier after we spent a year working at an archeological dig at the Capitoline Temple in Volubilis. Our visas were due to expire.
I wanted to visit the Fez’s famous leather shops, and even though OG doesn’t like leather, she agreed to join me as long as we could do something to overcome the acrid smell of the tanneries. First, we stopped in a spice shop in search of ras el hanout — the exquisite Moroccan mix of salt, cinnamon, cumin, coriander, allspice, black pepper, and ginger. And, I was looking for mint sprigs to hold under our noses for the tannery visit. Alas, that would have to wait.
We heard a massive ruckus. Men screaming and cursing in Arabic and Berber and French. Children crying. And the thumping and crashing of pottery smashing on the ground in the claustrophobia-inducing bazaar. Just then, OG poked her head out of the spice stall we were in and yanked in a tall, thin man with orange hair who just a second before had been scurrying and scampering around the mass of bodies in the street.
The thin man went nearly vertical as OG pulled him into our shop. She directed him to scrunch down and urged me to help stack spice sacks around him. As I added the last burlap bag to obscure him, he looked up. The thin man had one brown eye and one blue eye.
A huge mass of people came dashing past, screaming and shouting. Ziggy. Ziggy. Ziggy. There were hundreds of them pulsing and pushing through the souk. Half a dozen of the crew crashed into the shop we were in.
Ziggy, they yelled, imploring us to tell them if we had seen the man.
Who’s Ziggy, OG asked, first in Arabic, and then in French.
Ziggy. Ziggy. ZIGGY, an unbearded man said, breathing heavily. Ziggy Stardust. ZIGGY.
OG shook her head. No. And she waved the mob off.
After another 15 minutes passed, the medina quieted down. OG bent down to let the thin man out from behind the spice sacks. He got up and brushed cumin from his hair. And dusted cinnamon from his shirt.
And just then, it dawned on me. The eyes. David Bowie looked right at OG admiringly and said this:
OG was a hero. And for her smart and strong move, we got invited to be on stage at the thin man’s concert in Marrakesh. And Bowie sent OG a poster to commemorate her heroism in saving him from the mob in Fez. Here’s a postcard OG made from that poster to help me recall another Adventure with OG.
I got this triptych of sticker postcards Magda designed for International Sticker Day This is such a clever concept — leave space for stickering and then add your own stickers in the white space. (Although Maggie’s sticker game is next level and she added stickers all over the cards.). Too cute.. You can see all of Magda’s Designs at Travel Trinkets Canada.
Do you add stickers to your postcards? I finally organized my stickers. Cards like this prompt me to think more about adding fun little sticky goodness to my mail.
Little science fact because the stickers on this card led me to look up the stickiest substance on earth. Here you go:
The tiny water bacterium Caulobacter crescentus secretes a sugary substance so sticky that just a tiny bit could withstand the pull from lifting several cars at once. With an adhesive force of nearly five tons per square inch, this “glue” is nature’s strongest.
Yes, I ended up looking up the slipperiest substance on earth, too. It’s called BAM. Don’t put that stuff on your cards or they’ll just be slip slidin’ away.
The artist Nikita Regina sent this Vase with Irises (1890) postcard that shows a Vincent van Gogh painting I was lucky enough to see in the Rijksmuseum once upon a starry, starry night. The magical quality of the card and Vincent’s work is beautiful, but Nikita’s needlepoint stamp outshines it all.
Besides having lots of Vincent paraphernalia in my office, I also could listen over and over to Don McLean’s song Vincent (which some call Starry, Starry Night). I had the original American Pie album, and that song concluded our 8th Grade dance. But it was Vincent that I listened to more often. That song sent me to the public library to learn as much as I could about the artist. What a bit of serendipity that I ended up living a 10-minute walk from the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam many years later. Or that last October, I sat on a cushion at the Immersive Van Gogh exhibit in Minneapolis and watched that experience play through three full times.
I never forgot how that fascination with Van Gogh all started. With a song. This song.
Just look at how special this is. Nikita used my magic number for the stamp value. Thank you.
The Covid pandemic makes cholera seem almost quaint, doesn’t it? I wonder if Gabriel García Márquez would rethink Love in the Time of Cholera (El amor en los tiempos del cólera) if he were writing it in 2022. Nah, maybe not. There’s a wordplay in Spanish about the word cólera that has nothing to do with the acute illness caused by a bacterial intestinal infection.
And as horrible as cholera sounds (and it’s pretty bad), Melissa notes in this seven-card Covid series that it’s a rare-to-nonexistent postcard that contains the words “vomiting and diarrhea.” Yes, Melissa, I have to say this is the first one I’ve seen. We might need to get Mark Routh to comment on this. Mark has the world class, category-defining collection of Covid postcards and ephemera (approaching 5,000 items at last count).
Many thanks to Melissa for this series. (Images are from the CDC and the postcards were printed by NeckahNeck Forest Arts Collective.)
Did you read Love in the Time of Cholera? Or see the movie? Here’s the theatrical trailer.
Writing this made me think about all the hand washing I’ve done over the past two years of the pandemic. I commented in Episode 126 about how many people had died during the Influenza Pandemic of 1918, and somehow I got that number right (50 million worldwide; 675,00 in the U.S.). As of February 1, 2022, there have been 5.7 million people who died of Covid worldwide, with 881,000 dead in the United States. I’m gonna keep washing my hands, wearing my masks, and getting boosters. Meanwhile, I’ll stay home and look at these new additions to my Covid postcard collection.
UPDATE: Just as I was ready to push publish on this post, I got a postcard from Kristen that said “Wash Your Hands.” How’s that for timing? And that made me think I should make a demo about proper hand washing technique. So I did that this morning as a public service.
Today starts the Year of the Tiger. Louise sent this really nice card with a wish for an auspicious to launch the new year. Thank you, Louise, it has started very well.
In a fun little turn, the Google Doodle for today celebrates the Year of the Tiger.
I always wanted to have a tiger as my spirit animal. Sadly, I was born in the Year of the Pig. Yeah, go ahead and laugh. And don’t even bother reading about the personality traits or horoscopes for the Earth Pig. Dammit, I wanna be a tiger. And not that Eye of the Tiger song by Survivor. More like Roar by Katy Perry.
Orla created Imbolc postcards and set them out last night to catch Brigid’s magic dew on Imbolc Eve. Lucky are we who might benefit from a bit of this fairy dust in the form of a postcard.
In this episode of The Postcardist Podcast, Orla Hegarty and I talk about Imbolc; making postcards to honor the holiday; cognitive awe as we look out over the ocean; the mesmerizing qualities of humpback whales Orla sees from her living room window; giant potatoes and Irish immigration in Prince Edward Island; iron-on patches in school uniforms; and how Orla helped a small class of students in Labrador get a large number of postcards from around the word. Postcards connect people — and knowing smart people like Orla helps us connect to the world around us.
First, I’m imagining some of you might be wondering about Imbolc and its meaning. I’d heard of it as a kid growing up, but I didn’t know enough. Let’s all start with a little grounding about what Imbolc signifies.
Imbolc, which means in the belly as in the pregnant belly of a sheep, was a time when the breeding cycle of sheep started and ewes began to lactate. It’s a time of rebirth. The onset of spring. The modern holiday is also now known in Christianity as St. Brigid’s Day. You can listen here to a a little more about the ritual In Ireland in this 10-minute Almanac of Ireland podcast that’s a compilation of schoolchildren from the 1930s telling about the tradition. Plus, you can hear slight variations on the pronunciation of the word.
And if you’d like to listen to a pretty song about Imbolc, here’s Lisa Theil’s song of that name:
Now that you have some grounding in Imbolc (listen to the podcast to get a whole lot more from Orla), here are some of Orla’s Imbolc postcards in process. You can see the pieces of cloth and the St. Brigid’s Cross she refers to.
We also talked about P.E.I. and the world’s largest potato. You can visit this 14-foot tall super spud at The Canadian Potato Museum in O’Leary, Prince Edward Island. This definitely has to be a stopover on The Peace, Love & Postcards Tour. Who’s with me?
And we talked about the postcard project Orla promoted for the school children at Labrador Straits Academy in L’Anse au Loup, Labrador, Canada.
In this show, we also talked about the word “wyrd” and its link to fate and weaving; postcard goggles; and whale watching from the beach at St. Vincent’s. This is the view Orla has from her house. Now that’s a connection to the sea.
Finally, I’d like to leave you with something Orla said that still has me laughing. Challenge accepted, Orla. Challenge accepted.
Do you remember this scene from Risky Business? Back before Tom Cruise was Maverick in Top Gun. Or Tom Cruise the Creepy Scientologist Guy?
Sometimes you gotta say what the fuck. Take your chance. Kinda like deciding to take a pause from Instagram to get back to a little more authenticity in writing postcards. To really work on real connections. To chill a little.
So, you might be wondering how I came to this idea. It’s multi-pronged, but let me give you a list:
Massive time suck. Huge. I gasped when I discovered I spent an average of 29 hours per week on Instagram. I have lots of things to do, but that IG alert going off is a drug.
Content delivered to fewer and fewer followers. I have a lot of followers, but on a good day IG showed what I published to fewer than 500 of them.
Feeding the beast is exhausting. Receive cards. Photograph cards. Write captions. Determine timing for posts. Respond to comments. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
Is it about connections or social media recognition? There is good to be had on IG — that’s the connections. But it morphs. And it can rapidly become about likes and exposure.
I don’t own my content on IG. And neither do you. If Instagram decides they don’t like what I post, down it goes. Same if someone angrily “reports” you.
Not enough space to write meaningfully. I like writing captions, but there’s a moment when it’s nice to have a little more breathing space to write. That’s here.
If you’re not paying for the product, you’re the product. Notice all those ads? I mean it was getting to the point where every third post I’d see was an ad. Had to search for friends’ posts.
More creative freedom. I want to do more than post photos of cards I receive. It’s a feed the beast issue. I want to write more about postcards and connections.
More time to work on The Postcardist Podcast. I’ve enjoyed making that show. And I plan to make many more. That takes a lot of time to produce. Now I’ll have more time to do that.
More joy; less stress. Those of you who know me know that I’ve dealt with a pretty serious health issue for three years. I have more to deal with. Lowering stress is good for all of us.
That’s a list. I could write 10 more or 90 more reasons. I think you get the point. I’m not saying I’ll never go back to IG; it’s just a pause. I threw the circuit breaker. I’m not a person who announces something then changes my mind. It’s why I didn’t give a warning before I pushed pause. But I do reserve the right to wander back to Instagram someday with some guardrails in place. I’ll miss out on the interactions with kind people. And I’ll miss seeing some photos. But I’ll be glad to reclaim my time.
Just to show you something I could never show on Instagram without being reported, here’s a postcard I got from my Sugar & Kiki subscription this month. And it’s the words I said when I pushed pause. Kate knows me. And it cracked me up that this was in my mail that day.
If you’re here — thank you. If you’re not, neither of us will be the wiser. Let’s work on getting back to basics. Postcards connect people. Let’s do more of that.
Didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you? I’ll write more about my IG hiatus later, but for now, let’s celebrate another Sasquatch Sunday. First, let’s go ahead and look at Biggie and his crew as they sit on my side table on this snowy and sunny Sunday.
And today, thanks to Jen and Sue, I’m sporting these Sasquatch socks they secured in San Diego. (Yessssss to S alliteration.) Plus, they said they didn’t have a Biggie postcard in their collection, so they graciously added this fabulous John Bull steam locomotive maxicard. That made Biggie’s big feet swell three times their normal size. And that’s BIG.
And as a last installment today, do you ever think Biggie might have some roots in our shared past? Look at this Caveman statue Scott B. sent along. The statue is located in Oregon Caves National Monument.
I’ve been compiling some stats on The World’s Largest Bigfoot Postcard Collection. I now have more than 3,000 cards. And I am lucky to expand the collection to include other items — like those socks! I’m superstitious, so I always look for items that I think bring me good luck. I’d say Sasquatch Socks fill that criterion. And I always feel lucky to get postcards and packages from people. Thanks so much.
And hi. As Horton heard the Whos say, “We are here. We are here.”
I was wandering around my house this morning, shuffling in my moccasins, with a little watering can in my hand, flitting from plant to plant. As I sat down to write postcards this morning, I noticed that a couple plants in my postcard office were stressed. Drying out. Drooping. (Let’s not even talk about the avocado I grew from a seed in the summertime, only to have it wither and die nearly overnight.) I have to up my watering routine. As I walked around giving a needed drink to the palms and ferns and mothers-in-law tongues, I thought about how often plants should be watered.
As with everything, I looked it up.
The Empress of Dirt wrote this in response to being asked that common question from all of us who grow houseplants: How often should we water? As often as they need it. Yes, as often as they need it.
She explains a little more:
It’s a cheeky answer, but it’s also the right one. I started out thinking a routine such as watering houseplants once or twice a week would be right for my varied collection of plants.
Each plant is an individual with different needs. And they go through cycles throughout the seasons, just like outdoor plants do in summer and winter. This could be flowering, fruiting, producing seeds, or months of rest in the darker months.
During some cycles the plants are thirstier, either due to growth or drier indoor conditions, and sometimes they can go long stretches while the potting mix remains adequately moist.
Yep, it’s dry in here. And the conditions for my plants have changed a lot since the open window days of the summer. Here we are in the dead of winter. The furnace kicks on constantly and blows hot, dry air in the rooms. And sunlight is hard to find. My houseplants need a new watering schedule. Which leads me to the topic of today: How often to you need watering?
And although I’m not talking about. drinking water (you should do that — Mayo Clinic says eight glasses a day), I’m talking about the watering of your psychic energy. You know that little burst of dopamine you get each time you get a new piece of mail? That’s the best kind of watering.
How often do you like to get a postcard or piece of mail from someone? And how do you find out how often someone you write to needs watering? (Please don’t tell me you wait until they’re withering like I did with a couple plants in my office.)
There’s science behind all of this. This is the science about how and why postcards connect people. An article in Psychology Today titled Why We’re All Addicted to Text, Twitter, and Google describes the Dopamine Loop that we get into with social media — and to some extent with slow mail. Here are some excerpts from that research:
Dopamine is created in various parts of the brain and is critical in all sorts of brain functions, including thinking, moving, sleeping, mood, attention, motivation, seeking and reward. The latest research shows that dopamine causes seeking behavior. Dopamine causes you to want, desire, seek out, and search. It increases your general level of arousal and your goal-directed behavior. From an evolutionary standpoint, this is critical. The dopamine seeking system keeps you motivated to move through your world, learn, and survive. It’s not just about physical needs, but also about abstract concepts.
FRANK HERE: Pay attention to the seeking behavior. That’s an essential ingredient, and why I asked about how often you need watered with postcards. Now back to the Psychology Today article.
Dopamine makes you curious about ideas and fuels your searching for information. Research shows that it is the opioid system (separate from dopamine) that makes us feel pleasure. These two systems, the “wanting” (dopamine) and the “liking” (opioid) are complementary.
The wanting system propels you to action and the liking system makes you feel satisfied and therefore pause your seeking. If your seeking isn’t turned off at least for a little while, then you start to run in an endless loop.
The dopamine system is stronger than the opioid system. You tend to seek more than you are satisfied. Evolution again — seeking is more likely to keep you alive than sitting around in a satisfied stupor.
It’s easy to get in a dopamine-induced loop. Dopamine starts you seeking, then you get rewarded for the seeking, which makes you seek more. It becomes harder and harder to stop looking at email, stop texting, or stop checking your cell phone to see if you have a message or a new text.
Interestingly, brain scan research shows that the brain has more activity when people are anticipating a reward than getting one.
FRANK AGAIN: Do you let people know you’re sending a postcard or a letter? And do you show them what you’re sending? Anticipation is a powerful drug. And a great song…now, back to more dopamine data.
Dopamine is also stimulated by unpredictability. When something happens that is not exactly predictable, that stimulates the dopamine system.
FRANK AGAIN: This is like when our mail shows up. We could have an empty mailbox. Or a single postcard. Or many. It’s unpredictable. And that’s what gives us a dopamine jolt. One last point from Psychology Today:
The dopamine system is especially sensitive to “cues” that a reward is coming. If there is a small, specific cue that signifies that something is going to happen, that sets off our dopamine system. So, when there is a sound when a text message or email arrives, or a visual cue, that enhances the addictive effect.
Okay, jeez. I started out talking about watering plants, and now it’s all dopamine all the time. There is a psychology around all of this, and if you’re interested in more research on the topic, I’d be glad to delve deeper. For now, let’s say this: We like getting postcards. And postcards connect people.
I asked you earlier how much feeding and watering you needed. I’ve been thinking about that myself. I guess for some people it’s satisfying to hear from them once a year at Christmas. I like getting those Christmas letters that wrap up an entire family’s year in just a page or two. I like hearing from other people more often. On top of that, I like hearing from people I didn’t even know the previous year. It goes like that.
So, what’s your feeding and watering schedule? Does it change throughout the year like it does with my plants? Right now, it’s winter in the Northern Hemisphere, and for those of us who live in cold climates, the furnace runs, and hot air dries out the plants pretty quickly. The plants need more water now. Do you? Do you like getting more mail in winter when the days are short (and grey, like they are here in New England from December through April)? And do you have less of a need for postcards in summer when you’re more active outside and have more things to occupy your mind?
I don’t know the answer to these. But I’d love to hear back from you.
Early postcard connections are easy. Here’s a postcard. And here’s a postcard back. But then what? I’ve never gotten this intermittent reinforcement down smoothly. In fact, it’s why when anyone asks me if I want to swap postcards my instant answer is…no. I don’t like the one-for-one-for-one-for-one approach. You’ve heard me say that before. I tend to write in bursts. Which also means there can be long lulls.
How do you do it? Do you ask people how often they’d like to get a postcard? Do you gauge your choices based on how a recipient reacts when they get a card from you? (That’s another whole show…do you let people know when you get mail from them?) Again, leave me a message and let me know. I’m gonna pose this question to the people I write to. I’ll do it on a postcard.
Also, is there such a thing as too much? Not as in not appreciating it. The science of satiety tells us we get signals when enough is enough. But those signals don’t always arrive at the same time. Ever have just one more piece of pizza? Then regret it later? Makes me wonder a little about postcards and mail. I’ve seen people show pictures of their mailboxes with sad faces when they have a few pieces of mail. How many is enough? (In terms of pizza…for me, too much is just enough. As Oscar Wilde said, nothing succeeds like excess.) I’m curious about this. What’s your number?
Which leads me to wrapping this up. You know, there was something satisfying about going around and watering the plants in my house today. I talk to them. I can hear the gurgling when I pour water over them and it’s almost like they’re talking. They seem really grateful. And I’m grateful to be the waterer.
Let me turn this discussion on its head for a second. I’ve been talking about incoming postcards. But there is the satisfaction we get from sending postcards. Right? And I don’t want to ignore that. So, my first question to you was about getting — now it’s about sending. How many cards do you send? How often do you like to send cards to people? (I know you’re answering me right now — and that answer is A LOT.) Postcards connect people. And that’s both in the sending and the receiving.
Maybe that’s the lesson it took me an entire show to come around to.
Postcards connect people. And you do what makes you happy.
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