Sleds like my parent's
If you've been reading this blog, you know I recently took a little look-see into the past. To the days when people literally reached out and touched someone. Instead of posting a selfie on facehole, they posted a card. In the mail. Weird, but true. I sorted through my cousin Jane's well aged, dusty shoe box full of postcards last month. My trip down Jane's memory lane took me to 1960's Vegas and titillating topless ice skaters. Ooh-la-la. I learned what kind of bed spreads the Holiday Inn favored back in the day. Burnt orange. And I was educated about a new species of rabbit. The Jackalope. You know, rabbits with antlers.
This investigative postal-ism prompted me to dig up my own hand written past. I sifted through my oldest box of cards. I'm a pack rat just like my cousin. I don't know why, but I saved everything. Wow! I received a lot of high school graduation cards. Geez, it's pretty easy to graduate from high school. I hope my friends and family didn't think it was Med school or something. I also discovered that my college boyfriend sent me more cards in just a few years of dating, than my husband has given me in fifteen years of marriage. Including the 4 years we dated before that. For shame! And then there's the mystery of the people that seem to be so important in you life. For awhile. They send you thoughtful cards and never forget your birthday and then mysteriously vanish. Seriously, there were cards from people that I can't remember from Adam. Or was it Eve.
But the sweetest cards were from my parents. I remember crying into an unfamiliar pillow when my parents started traveling out west to snowmobile in the mountains. I was probably only around 6 years old when they left me with our pastor and his family for two torturous weeks. I found out later that my Mom shed just as many tears as me in those early years. The featured card is from 1975. I was eight year's old and had graduated to staying with my friend Vikki and her family. I remember the Christianson's only ate healthy cereal. For God's sake Mom! How could you leave me with those savages? "Ah, excuse me, Mrs. Christianson. Um, where exactly do you keep your cookie crisp cereal? What???!!! You don't have any!!!!!"
If only I knew a good swear word when I was eight. Like good old W.T.F. But I didn't.
My parents had a lot of adventures snowmobiling in Yellowstone. They enjoyed wilderness wiener roasts with grizzly bears. Sort of. They saw Buffalo and Elk in their natural habitat. (see above) They experienced high altitude sled troubles. (snowmobiles are called sleds by true devotees) And, thank goodness, they sent lots of postcards. Postcards that always ended with Love, Mom and Dad. Priceless. Or, at least 10 cents worth.