writing – Page 2 – I like to write junk…

A CHRISTMAS POSTCARD

“I’ve been tempted to send Christmas cards in July, but thus far have resisted.”

Each Christmas, my wife takes the Christmas Cards we receive, opens and reads them, and then tapes them to a pantry door. My mother did the same, although she used a wall because we didn’t have a pantry.

After New Year’s is over, Joleen removes the cards and puts them back in their envelopes, so that she has a current address to mail ours the following year. People still change locations, so that’s an easy way to keep updated on their whereabouts.

There was a time we received close to 100 cars from friends, family, and businesses, but that number has slowly dwindled. I believe last year, in 2024, we got a total of 19. Some of the senders passed away, while others just don’t mail them anymore.

I recall my mom scratching her head, attempting to recall if so-and-so sent a card the previous year. With my wife keeping ours in a box, that’s no problem. Forty years ago, I came up with an idea so that people wouldn’t have that problem.

I took over the letter-writing department during Christmas, always making sure that our ‘form letter’ was bizarre and unforgettable. While Aunt Betty’s card and letter might not be remembered 30 days after getting them, I didn’t want that to happen with ours. I’ve had friends and family say that they think I’ve lost it, but at least they remember the card or letter. That’s what counts most!

We’ve sent out cards with our two parrots supposedly writing things, along with an attorney, a garbage collector, neighbors, a complete stranger, and firms that we supposedly paid to write because we were too busy. I even had a holiday form letter printed out with fill-in-the-blanks.

The phony lawyer’s office letter was 20 years ago, and I still recall the firm’s name: Bend, Ovar, and Takum. Another year, I had a rubber stamp made with our signatures in cursive, going on to let it be known the following year, in a Christmas form letter, that some folks were upset because we didn’t take time to sign them ourselves. It’s reminiscent of the Joe Biden autopen controversy.

The best cards we mailed were a select few that I took a propane torch to, scorching them just enough to make them look like they’d been in a fire. That card envelope was stamped, with me having to carefully draw black spiral lines across the stamps to make them appear as cancelled. I only addressed a certain number to family members.

A blackened card and envelope were then placed inside another plain brown envelope marked USPS, with an official-looking note inside, supposedly from the US Postal Service. The note said that the mail was damaged from being in a warehouse fire. We waited two months after Christmas to finally send them.

Family still talks about that, with a good majority believing that the warehouse fire actually took place. I suppose there is a question as to whether this act was legal, but the statute of limitations has long run out.

Back in the early 1900s, Christmas ‘postcards’ were quite common. I made my own one year, taking small 4×5 index cards and gluing a photo of Santa on the front, with him saying Merry Christmas.

There was little room to write a note on the back, with us just proclaiming, Happy New Year. I believe that’s the one we mailed right after Halloween. I’ve been tempted to send Christmas cards in July, but thus far have resisted.

Finding an early Christmas postcard from 1907 on eBay, the person receiving it was Mrs. Mildred Taylor, who lived in New Philadelphia, Ohio. Someone with the initials B.L. from Kokomo, Indiana, sent it with the following cryptic letter. I’ve left words as written.

“This is the 17th. I missed the mailman yesterday. I don’t know if this will be today or not. Accident if it happen.

Freeport, O.

December 16, 1907

Dear friend Mildred,

I thought I would drop you a few lines to let you know I am all O.K. and am having a pretty good time but it’s not Philla. How are you I can almost see you as I sit here writing was just looking at your picture and I bet you could not guess what mother said, I suppose not anything good, ha. She suffering lot. Hear from you soon. B.L.”

Mildred A. “Mary” Peacock Taylor spent her entire life in New Philadelphia, Ohio, along with her husband, Earl. Hopefully, Mildred interpreted what her friend was telling her because anyone else reading this note wouldn’t totally understand. I suppose that’s intentional on the writer’s part.

Nowhere is there mention of ‘Merry Christmas’ or ‘Happy New Year’, although the front of the Victorian-style Christmas postcard does say, ‘A Peaceful Christmas’. The photo of a frazzled Santa with a large bag of toys makes it appear he isn’t having one!

NUMBER PLEASE

“What seems so unreal is that I still remember part numbers from my days working at an automotive parts store.”

I’ve always had a good memory, remembering small things from long ago. I chalk it up to never being dependent on recreational drugs or alcohol. Lately, what I seem to forget more than anything else is connecting names with faces.

I’ll watch an old movie and when some well-known actor comes on scene, oftentimes his or her name is on the tip of my tongue yet I can’t spit it out. This can be irritating, with it having me wonder if I’m becoming senile.

Whenever this happens, I quietly ask myself, “What is the firing order of a Chevrolet V-8 engine. Thus far, I’ve been able to rattle off 1-8-4-3-6-5-7-2 without hesitation. Car guys and gals know what I’m talking about here. As long as I get those numbers right, I have to assume all is good upstairs.

Last winter, I was with some friends at the Desert Bar near Parker. The name of this place can be misleading for those who’ve never been there. The rustic establishment is built around a former gold and silver mine, and it’s totally off-grid. I view it as more of a ghost town with a live band. It’s definitely family-friendly.

There are antique cars and old rusty mining stuff to be seen, including an awesome replica western day church, complete with a steeple. Yes, weddings can be arranged. The food is good, and I always make sure to bring cash because they don’t take checks or credit cards. Beer is served, but for guys like me, they have soft drinks as well.

On this last trip, a fellow and his wife walked up and recognized me. They knew my name and started up a conversation. All during that time, my brain was going, “I know these folks, but for the life of me, I don’t recall their names.” Seeing that I was confused, they helped give my memory a jumpstart.

Walking back to our table and repeating their names over and over, wanting them to permanently sink in, I informed my wife about my memory lapse. I told her that I’d make sure to remember their names next time. I have been doing so for several months now, even writing them down on a piece of paper. That paper is now hiding somewhere, and I don’t recall where I put it. 1-8-4-3-6-5-7-2.

They’re a nice couple, much younger than us, snowbirds, they come from Minnesota each winter, owning a home here. I can remember almost the whole conversation we had over coffee at Bashas. We planned on getting together when they came back and going metal detecting.

What seems so unreal is that I still easily recall part numbers from my days working in an automotive parts store. That was 40 years ago. The Spicer number for a 1975 Chevrolet Blazer constant velocity centering joint is 210782X. The Standard ignition number for Chevy points is DR2270P. Ford points are FD8183V. I could go on and on.

Why is it that I can still relate numbers to parts, yet faces to names is now escaping me? How do older ministers handle this problem? I suppose calling everyone brother or sister works, at least for a while.

Taking the herb Ginkgo biloba is supposed to help in the memory department, or at least a friend told me that eons ago. I believe at this point it’d do little good, and besides, one of my doctors said it’s not good to take this if you’re on blood thinners. Mark that off my list.

They say AI technology can recognize facial features. The police and other protective agencies have been using such for years. I believe the answer for older folks like me is for everyone to have a barcode stamped on their forehead. Keeping a scanner in my back pocket, I could then scan and say without embarrassment, “Hello, Joe, how are you doing today?”

I’m only joking here, but in reality, the world could be coming to that!

SNAPSHOT

“My wife loves for us to drive through Havasu neighborhoods at night during the holidays and take in the colorful lights.”

The other morning in a restaurant I heard a customer remark, “That’s a Kodak moment for sure.” The short and often repeated statement simply means that some special life event has just occurred.

In this case, a male server dropped and broke a dish or cup. I suppose that happens quite often, so why this person designated it a Kodak moment still baffles me.

I’ve been one to take pictures going back to elementary school, and I’m glad I did. Those photos still exist for my kids and grandchildren to enjoy and hopefully preserve. I now keep them in a safe for safekeeping, no pun intended.

In high school, I took a graphic arts class, with part of the semester devoted to taking pictures and then developing the 35mm film. Our large classroom had a darkroom where we created negatives and printed them off.

A classmate, David Church, and I decided to use the school high-definition camera to take a snapshot of a one-dollar bill. It started out as a joke of sorts, with neither of us having viewed a movie where criminals counterfeited lowly George Washington bills.

We left the completed image in a copier before departing class on Friday afternoon, ready for it to be duplicated. With no intentions of going through with the ruse, we hoped that someone would find it and create a fuss. The following week, graphic arts had a special guest speaker—a special agent of the FBI.

This man emphasized to our class and to other classes throughout the day the serious implications of counterfeiting currency. Undoubtedly, he knew this was a cleverly planned joke, yet wanted to nip things in the bud before someone went further.

Dave and I were smart enough to keep our mouths shut, thus we suffered no serious consequences. We were light years ahead of other students throughout the whole semester, where legal creativity was concerned, and received A’s for our handiwork.

Just the other day my wife mentioned that a snapshot had been taken of me as I drove through a red light. She then mentioned all of the cameras placed at various intersections for drivers like myself. I told her a police camera would’ve vindicated me of the act as I knew that light was still yellow. Our debate ended in a draw.

Cameras throughout town capture our every move and for the most part, are a good thing. I do my best to obey the traffic laws but at times fail. Those cameras aren’t the only ones capturing me making mistakes. I have a tiny one on the vehicle dash that records such acts as well.

A couple of years ago, Joleen was searching for cheaper auto insurance and came across a company offering lower rates if we agreed to something called “Snapshot.” At first, I thought it was an onboard camera and wanted no part of the device.

After reading a pamphlet, Snapshot turned out to be a gadget that plugged into our vehicle computer, and after 90 days, the data would be analyzed for sudden stops, jackrabbit starts, excess speed, and erratic driving.

It seemed like a no-brainer to go through with things, not taking into consideration it was close to Christmas. My wife loves for us to drive through Havasu neighborhoods at night during the holidays and take in the colorful lights.

For those living in town, they’ll know what I mean. The street signs are mostly faded and hard to see in the dark. Following a newspaper map with all of the Christmas light locations made for a trying experience.

Our snapshot device went off numerous times, making a loud beep as I suddenly slowed down and made quick turns. I wanted to toss it out the window. All in all, Snapshot painted a picture of me as a bad driver after the results were tabulated.

With the holidays here, thankfully, Snapshot is a thing of the past. I now use a preprogrammed GPS to find those decorated homes. There’s a good chance I’ll still execute sudden stops and turns, yet the only indication of such will be a honk coming from behind.

I’ll return the gesture out of courtesy and wave to them while cheerfully saying out loud, “Merry Christmas, Jack. Next time, stay a little further back!”