It is not often when I find myself at a loss for words, but this weekend that is exactly what happened.
Last week my sister in-law passed my husband an old cardboard box.
We didn’t think much of it.
We were told it was his old stamp collection and a couple of his parents and grandparents knickknacks. Really just a box full of remote family memories that had sat in her basement for a while and needed a new home.
She had meant to give it to us a million times over, but life got in the way and the box sat.
On Saturday night I put the box on the table and my husband lifted the lid.
We both love antiques. Sometimes on a sunny morning we will stop for coffee and cruise the local stores.
Nothing I have ever seen in these shops though would prepare me for what I was about to see.
For over one hundred years both of my husband’s grandfathers and great grandfathers collected post cards from their travels around the world. We found, antidotes, replies, and notes telling us of their adventures. Stories on each and every piece of paper.
Many are post marked 1907, 1909, New York, Vancouver, Seattle, China, England.
Every card and envelope had a story.
My mind raced, my heart pulsed.
What had these things seen?
Who sent them all?
A million ideas invaded my head.