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Posting Letters

Posting letters. I love the sound of those two words. It sounds so much more English than “mailing a letter.” I’m a romantic at heart and I love the thought of a postman carrying a satchel filled with postcards from all over the world. It’s sweet to see a package marked fragile hanging out of a mailbox and imagine how excited the homeowner is when they collect their mail at the of the day.

No Junk Mail

Whether that day is rainy or sunny, the goal of the post office is keeping us in touch with one another. We’ve come a long way in the US since the “running pony” delivered to the early colonies. There was no need for zip codes, junk mail didn’t exist and surely Ben Franklin could have kept Hillary’s “mail” secure.

Fairhope, My Adopted Hometown

Sometime around 1993 I accompanied my husband to a work conference at the Grand Hotel in Point Clear, AL. My son was about 8 years old and my daughter only one. I had the rare opportunity of traveling with J while the kids got a little bonding time with their Granna.  We had a wonderful time of visiting with co-workers and enjoying the grounds of such a historic hotel; but, on one particular day while J was conferencing, I saw our family’s future on the face of a clock.

Welcome to Our Porch

Some of my fondest childhood memories include long talks on my Nanny’s front porch. My cousins and I would swing and tell jokes, rock in the rocking chairs and sometimes eat homemade ice cream on our birthdays. Such sweet times. It was with that in mind, that I decided to update our small front porch to encourage breeze-shootin’, songbird-listening, sweet-tea-sippin’ sunsets with my man or a sweet friend.