Tag: Poems

Categories
Education History parenting Photographs Poems Postcards Teaching Vintage World War II writing Writing Prompt

Miss Isabell Cox: Exploring 117 Year Old “Junk” Mail

To: Miss Isabell Cox From: Pittsburg Press 1907

Take my advice — Stop the Saturday Evening Post and take the Pittsburg Press

When I first scanned this card into my digital collection, I didn’t take much notice of it other than the postmark. It had come to me as part of a bulk lot, and I was new to collecting. The card looked old, and it felt old, and the postmark confirmed that it WAS old, and that was all I needed. So I scanned it in.

Only once I really started to create this blog did I realize what I had.

Junk mail. I have 117 year old junk mail. This junk mail is almost as old as Edward Cullen. Now, if this were an actual connection, of course this would be so super cool. But junk mail? It’s a little disheartening to know that people were getting non-desired mailers even during the undivided back period. Though something about it does feel so…human?

For a western town, Greeley, Colorado was quite up and coming. Originally founded as an “agricultural utopia” based on farming, temperance, and religion, the town seemed always on the forefront of modernity. Telephones were installed as early as 1883 and electric lights graced the Greeley downtown by 1886. It’s fitting, therefore, that the residents were interested in the Saturday Post, since it truly was the bees knees. It’s just as fitting that the Pittsburgh Press was trying to get a hold on the burgeoning town.

And what of Isabell Cox? First, I suspect the name was misspelled (does nothing change?), though it could be Isabella Cox, I suppose. I thought for sure I’d be able to find some semblance of her, but of course the archival Gods laughed at my certainty and left me stumped. In the end, there were a few good options. One Isabella Cox who was living in Colorado, but moved to New York by 1910, and an Isabel Cox who lived in the correct city…but was 4 in 1907.

I’d like to think this was sent to the 4 year old. Because of course it was. We’ve all received random junk mail for our children, and it seems that the turn of the 20th century was no different than the new millennia. Proof that times change, methodologies change…but capitalism never changes.

Undivided back, addressed to Miss Isabell Cox

Categories
Education family History Photographs Poems Postcards Teaching Vintage writing Writing Prompt

“He Was Here Last Eve”: Capturing Girlhood and Family Bonds in a 1909 Postcard

To: Miss Mildred Freeman From: Mabel 1909

Dec. 7, 09

Why don’t you write me, M. and I want you to come up Xmas just as you did last year and we go home with you. We will meet you at Russel just the same and we will try and not make any mistake. I went skating last eve and had a fine time only wish you were here. I would teach you how to skate. he was there last eve but I didn’t skate with him. his time was occupied. Now answer right back.

With love,

–Mabel

In December of 1909, William Howard Taft was president, Pearl Harbor is founded, and the Manhattan Bridge opened. Women couldn’t vote, neither world war had broken out, and we were still three years away from the Titanic sinking to the bottom of the Atlantic.

While I love the many different postcards that I write about, and while each of them is a gem unto themselves, this particular postcard feels like something special. Partly, because it reads like it came directly out of a period movie. I can almost hear Mabel’s sweet but chastising voice, almost picture her coy and playful smile, can practically hear her nonchalant frustration at his time being too occupied to skate with her.

It is a perfect snippet of girlhood. The longing, the frustration, the all encompassing angst of (unrequited?) love. So rarely does a card capture the essence of a moment so wonderfully.

Yet this is undeniably Mabel. And she is amazing.

I love this card so much that I almost didn’t want to research the people involved. I know that sounds counterproductive, but I enjoyed the picture painted by the correspondence, and worried that research might ruin that image. And, as I’ve stated time and time again, researching women is complicated. They are obscured by their fathers and husbands, and maiden names can be just as difficult to research as married names.

But this gem of a card just kept on giving. One quick search and I immediately found Mildred Freeman, and her story is just as interesting as Mabel’s story on the card. Mildred Freeman was born September 28, 1894 in North Prescott, Massachusetts. At the time of this card, Mildred was 16 years old. However, she was only months away from her wedding to Charles Fiske, a man 7 years her senior. For reference, he was 23 to her 16 when they married. Perhaps that’s why Mildred wasn’t writing Mabel back…she was being courted by Charles. Mildred had one son and died in 1988 at the age of 94.

And what of Mabel? The letter suggests the two girls are related (especially since Mabel suggests they spend Christmas with each other’s families), so I went through each of Mildred’s aunt’s and uncles in the hopes I could find a cousin that matched.

And I did…sort of.

Mabelle Florence Beach was born on June 16, 1889. At the time of the postcard, she was 20 years old. This surprised me a little, since the voice of the card reads a tad younger. However, it still tracks. The tragic thing about Mabelle, or perhaps not so tragic depending on how you view it, is that she never married. Her father died in 1907, and in the census of 1920, Mabelle was working as a stenographer. Mabelle died in 1944 at the age of 55. She was buried with her father and mother, which I find endearing. Though, I’m saddened he never gave her the attention she hoped to receive.

What a lovely, lovely card. The love between these two cousins endures, and I’m so grateful to tell their story 115 years later.

Front of Postcard: “In the Berkshires”

Categories
Education family parenting Photographs Poems Postcards Teaching Vintage writing Writing Prompt

“Greetings”: The Art of Succinct Messages From A 1908 Postcard

To: Mr. Andrew Berlin From: Martin 1908

Greetings from Martin

The beauty of this postcard is astounding, and I’ve loved it since I first saw it. Yet, I’m in the business of connections, not art and the brief greeting on the back of the postcard always left me a little sad. Unlike so many of my cards, there’s almost a lack of connection here. It’s cold, formal, almost a card of obligation rather than desire.

In my (limited) experience, there’s two reasons why a greeting might be so short on a postcard. First, the writer is young. Let’s face it, kids can pepper you with questions, and string stories from their imaginations, but when asked to write a card or a thank you — they freeze up.

Second, short greetings are usually reserved for undivided back postcards sent before 1907. Those required the sender to write on the front and often left little to no space to send more than a “wish you were here.”

This card doesn’t seem to fit any of the above. The handwriting is too elegant to be considered a childish scrawl, it’s dated 1908 with a divided back, AND there’s plenty of blank space on the front for the sender to write a message if they had wanted.

In going into my research on the addressee, I now have a set of questions in my mind. Like, how old were they when the postcard was sent? Is there a Martin in their family tree? And why might the postcard be postmarked in the same city?

It would be a lovely thing if archives opened up and the answers to all our questions spilled out of their coffers. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. I am not positive that I found our Andrew Berlin. However, I did find record of an Andrew Berlin living in Minnesota at the 1910 census. In that year, he was 7 years old.

If this is our Andrew (which I am not positive that it is) then the short greeting is appropriate for a five year old. Perhaps an Uncle or a cousin sent the card in the cold March months to cheer the boy up. It’s plausible. A beautiful picture, a succinct greeting, calling him “Mr. Andrew Berlin” as though he’s older than his five years. It’s certainly something I might send to my niece or nephew.

The only sort of broken cog in the machine is that I couldn’t find a relation named Martin for this Andrew. But, I didn’t scroll through the myriad of cousins on both sides of the family, so we can hope.

In the meantime, please enjoy my own maiden meditation.

“Maiden Meditation” front of postcard

Categories
Education History parenting Photographs Postcards Vintage Writing Prompt

1919 Surprise Party: Social Change and Post-WWI Celebrations

From: Ella Bettinque To: Mr. and Mrs P. Madson. 1919

Dear Friends,

I am going to have a surprise party for Hilmer(?) Wed. Eve the 30th and would like to have you folks come. Will you please let Ges. and Pete Allan(?) know about it too?

As ever,

Ella Bettinque(?)

The guns of war had ended by 1919, but that didn’t stop violence. I’ve talked about the Red Summer of 1919 on the blog before, but since this postcard has a picture of Chicago, I felt I should touch on the violence again. WWI provided an opportunity for Black men and women to move out of the rural South and into the North where factories needed workers. However, as the war ended and white servicemen came home, tensions increased. This hit a fever pitch in the summer of 1919. Riots and massacres broke out all across the United States, resulting in loss of life as well as loss of property.

1919 in fact marked a great shift in social change. As Black Americans were fighting for their civil rights, women had just won the vote, and prohibition was about to take effect. The Treaty of Versailles was signed — an event which would lead to the second World War. The winds of change swept away stagnant customs, leaving the world on the brink of social revolution.

And Ella had decided to throw a surprise party. There’s something so wholesome about this postcard. Although telephones were gaining traction by 1919 (roughly 1/3 of homes had a telephone by 1920), they still weren’t the norm. That left communication by postcard, which seems like a fairly easy way to keep a secret. However, I do wonder about Ella’s hosting skills since for whatever reason she couldn’t (or wouldn’t?) let Ges and Pete know about the party herself.

Who were these lovely people? Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough information to be sure I’ve found any of them. There was a Paul Madson in Wisconsin that seemed promising, but without a first name it’s just a guessing game. As for Ella, I’m very unclear on her last name. It could be Brettingles, Bettinque, Brettinque, or any other combination of two “t’s” a g or q and maybe an s at the end. If you have any other thoughts, please let me know and I’ll see if I can find her.

What’s even more frustrating is that I’m not sure what season the party fell on. We know the card was postmarked the 28th, and we know that the party was on 30th (which seems like a quick turn around Ella! People need to plan!), but the month isn’t listed or wasn’t stamped well enough. Was it a summer party? A winter party? Perhaps a close to Halloween party? I don’t know. I want to think that it was a fall party. A day where the sun set early, so everyone gathered close around a table with a low light. Maybe they drank the last bit of alcohol they had before Prohibition really took hold, maybe they played cards, ate cake, and reveled in the coming ease of the roaring 20’s.

No matter what, I hope people came and laughed and enjoyed themselves. Especially since Ella gave two days notice and basically said “spread the word.” Bad planning, or perfect surprise? You be the judge.

Front of Postcard. Image of Residence Street, Chicago

Categories
Flash Fiction parenting Poems Poetry writing

Forgetting

I fear the forgetting as much as being forgotten

Memories that slip away, intangible as a morning mist.

Faces that drift in and out with names that evade me.

And so, dear child. I write the most mundane things.

Your mercurial moods. Your sunshining smiles. Your stomachaches and heartbreaks.

That is how you’ll know I love you.

Categories
Poems Poetry writing

Valentines

I’m strung out on the filament of your love

Bound between your lips and your lies

Wrapped in the chill of your exhale.

Categories
Flash Fiction Poems Poetry

Cousins

Did you know, little one, that in the bright cusp of summer, when the sun was low but the grass still warm, your mother communed with fairies?

She drank tea from snapdragon cups while the fairies spun her hair into a gold plaited crown before she sat on her ivy throne and held court with the snails and ladybugs.

Your mother whispered to the butterflies, so the fairies turned her eyes into stars and her lips into the moon — because only the night sky can tell secrets to the insects that sleep on roses.

And dear one, on slow August nights when the wind slips across your skin like thick velvet and the sun is yawning low in the sky, you can still hear the song she taught the crickets.

Categories
Flash Fiction Poems writing

Withered

In my memories you exist like

the sharp scent of an overblown rose

and the sting of thorns.

You tamed the tangled garden of my soul

but plucked

my buds

one

by

one.

Categories
Flash Fiction Poems writing

Deja Vu

Our lives are written on a thousand slips of paper jostled and drowned in the foaming waves of a tempest. We float on the bubbles, too light and insignificant to notice the storm underneath. But sometimes, when we sleep, our fingers grasp the inky depths of the future.

Categories
writing Writing Prompt

Billboard

Daily writing prompt
If you had a freeway billboard, what would it say?
View all responses

Nothing and everything.

Tendrils of color in sweeping brushstrokes would reach for the sky, communing with the varied moods of sunrise or dusk or stormy weather.

I would hang art that clashed with black snaking roads and gray exhaust. Art that soothed hurried commuters rushing from home to tomb and back to home again.

Art. Paintings. Poems. Photos. The advertisements of the soul.