Postcards from Oz

      Why do I ‘collect’ things? Why do any of us? 
     Maybe to remember places? Or people? Or ourselves?
     Yes, yes, yes… and to smile and feel the soft edge of guiltless daydreaming- for a moment.
     I look up, everyday, as I write these posts, and enjoy my collection of vintage post cards- thinking it must have been wonderful to receive these beautiful little works of art- with a stamp postmarked from a place you would probably never visit, as you waited for the mailman with your best friend, for a reply, or a mention, or a surprise request from a person you loved, far off, and doing something much more exciting than you.
     I have many collections. This one transports me to another place, where I’m in different clothes, enjoying slower music, and not in such a rush. My life expectancy won’t be as long, I’ll probably have too many pregnancies, and I’ll have to sneak a brandy. There will be a ladies suffrage meeting I want to attend and a household to prepare supper for. I will drive a new contraption called an automobile, and help my daughter cut her hair into a ‘bob’. 
     There will be a dogeared copy of the latest Ladies Home Journal on the side table and a secreted-away copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover in my stocking drawer. 
     My only difficult decision will be what to pack for our trip abroad- to visit The Emerald City of Oz.  

My cell is ringing
and a fax is coming in.
I’ve got to get to the gym, 
trade my Apple stock before closing, and
write this post.
Forget dinner.

That’s me!

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