In the early days of the internet (AOL), your computer would let you know of the arrival of this modern miracle of instant communication with a cheery greeting.   Now of course, it is routine to get an avalanche of e-mails, most of which are unimportant, with the occasional gem of communication.   But besides the e-mails that I have kept, I also have written things that come from the past.

It’s fairly obvious from the postcard on the left that these are vintage greetings.

Some of them were sent, and others were saved for one reason or another.

I lined them up randomly to take this picture, but it turns out that they are actually in order.   They are all written by my great-grandmother, Josephine Curry, to my grandmother.   The earliest postcard was written in 1908, when my grandmother was away at Tunasassa Indian School.   After she was at school, my grandmother worked as a domestic for some white people for a few years.   There are no postcards from the time of my gran’s first marriage, that’s a mystery without an answer.   The last postcard is from about 1926,  before my mom was born, when my aunt was going to Indian School.  These faded postcards and an even more faded photo are the only bits left from my great-grandmother, who was born in 1860.   My mom had these bits so I assume that she kept them as a link to the past.  Mom was from my gran’s second family, so most of the old people were already gone by the time she was born and she never knew them.

That is the good mail, then there are the modern letters that I get, and I would not classify them as good or pleasant or welcome, but it is mail.

My youngest brother likes to send me whiny letters complaining about all his bills and ills.   He writes letters because he never answers his phone, this is the only way to communicate with him.   I believe that his purpose is to guilt me into paying his bills, and this is not going to happen.   So I reply; change what you’re doing and I will help you.   That never happens, and I continue to get the same letter on a different date.  Oh well, maybe the fleeting messages of the internet are the way to go.