Missives of love

“Letters are souvenirs of love,” says the headline on the newspaper article I read weeks after it was published.

The growing darkness, a poem by Kim Kishbaugh (c) 2020
Sometimes I even make my own cards or postcards—meditative in its own way!

I wrote four postcards today, and yes I think love was one of the reasons. Letter writing of any sort tells a person you’re thinking of them, they’re special, and you want to connect with them—specifically them, not just anyone.

I used to write long letters when I was younger, before I married and had a kid and got busy, busy busy. I’ve lost the habit, but the postcards and cards I’ve been sending lately might be a first step toward getting it back. I rather hope so, both because I value that personal form of communication as a recipient and because letter writing can be meditative for me. To write to someone about my life and my world is to think about my life and my world. Doing so with pen and paper takes a little longer than email and feels more…intentional, I think. The fact that I write emails all day for work might be another factor in favor of pen and paper for me.

Viva la postal service

The meditative nature of letter writing is only one reason why I’m doing it these days. The other reason—indeed, the primary one—is because I believe in the inherent value of and need for public mail delivery. The U.S. Postal Service is under threat, and we need it. Using it is a small way for me to show my support.

I’ve started seeing signs in support of mail carriers on doors and windows in my neighborhood, so I know I’m not alone. I’m pleased to see these essential workers getting some thanks and praise for continuing to do their work in this trying time. I do know someone who doesn’t properly appreciating them, though: Old Dog, aka Rolo. Like many dogs, she doesn’t welcome the mail carrier to our door (unless you consider furious barking and growling a welcome). That’s OK, though. Our mail carrier knows and waves to her as “my friend” when we see him on our walks in the neighborhood.

Of course, we stay safely on opposite sides of the street from one another while we wave.

Labors of love

Labor Day weekend found me in my happy place in Michigan, reading and writing, beaching, loving on my aging dogs, and enjoying the company of dear friends. I wrote a couple of poems whose staying power remains uncertain—I’ll revisit them in a couple of weeks to see if they feel right—and was thrilled to get an acceptance letter from a new online poetry journal. My Labor Day labors might not bear any fruit, but labors that preceded them did, and that feels good. I’ll share details when the poem is actually published; meanwhile, I bask in acceptance. Continue reading

Free association

Driving home from work tonight I heard the word “copse” in the audiobook that’s currently keeping me company in the car, and my mind set off on a path of word association that took me deep into my childhood.

I grew up in the rural Midwest, roaming 300+ acres of pastureland owned by my family and my best friend’s family. “Copse” immediately took me back to the wooded alcove set between two hills in my grandmother’s pasture, near the creek that ran in summer and froze in winter, a place where I played and rested and read, both alone and with my sister and friends, for hours and hours on end. Continue reading

Branding help for the Girl Scouts

It’s not because I was a Brownie as a child, but because I am a writer turned content strategist as an adult. Bear with me while I offer some free brand advice to the Girl Scouts. I’m compelled.

Unless you live far from civilization and any sort of elementary or secondary school, you’ll be familiar with the proud signs that parents skewer into their front lawns, or display in windows, boasting of their children’s accomplishments. They’re handed out by school clubs and sports teams everywhere: Continue reading

Fits and starts

Words come to me in fits and starts, an image here, a memory there. Rarely when it’s convenient. I’ve taken to keeping my Notes app open on my phone while I drive so I can dictate hands-free. Even then, I’m not sure I capture anything worth the capture. I throw down a line but have to focus on the driving—better to lose the thought, or be unable to finish it, than to have it be my last on God’s earth. I get home and have only a collection of disjointed notes, nothing I’ve yet been able to build into anything better. Continue reading