After a long period of away, I came home to a small cardboard box in the entry hall. My sister brought it in and placed it there while she was checking on the house. Shipped from a friend in Pennsylvania, it wasn’t waiting too long. Still, dust gathers in the summer sun.
I pulled back the layers of packing tape to reveal a sturdy shoebox full of old postcards. Surprised? No, I knew they were coming. But, I had only a few clues what the cards might be about. I could have guessed but it wasn’t necessary. The cards were labeled and paperclipped (egads!) to reveal a nicely organized collection of Medieval stained glass in churches and cathedrals throughout Europe.
These cards were collected by the authority on the subject, Dr. Meredith Lillich, who passed away this year. She used them as convenient and cost effective reference tools for the subject she studied, visited, and wrote about in the course of a storied career. Through a series of friendly connections, the cards were entrusted to me. I am pleased to be the postcard lady, especially if it includes the chance to hold a small part of a beautiful legacy.
I have looked at each card once, noticing the usual attributes of place and subject matter, along with the paper, printing method, era, and condition. So many beautiful chrome color cards capturing astounding architectural details and the intricate glass embedded in lofty ceiling and windows. A number of images are real photos in black & white, and there are even a few drawings and sketches. Most have the printed particulars from their source, and only a rare pencil mark from Dr. Lillich. Her thoughts on the matter are in her many scholarly works and in the memories of those she mentored.
Looking at the cards, I noted the difficult photographic task to represent the God-like glow of sunlight through colored glass. This highly sculptural substance is meant for us to understand and feel the presence of the Holy Spirit, in situ. Capturing its true effect on paper is a technical feat.
I suppose my friend called me because he’s been following my efforts with The Posted Past. At first, my only charge was to comprehend the scale and dimensions of Dad’s collection. Then, it took time to find some finesse in researching and writing about postcards (which are about everything). Now I am the steward of a simple but sneaky mission to stay in touch. As I do, these wonderful opportunities arise. Slow momentum is so satisfying.
For example, Dad was still alive on the day I found the hidden trove of real photo postcards from the 1920 Olympics. Convinced of their cultural significance, I hopped into the room wondering who I should contact. The Olympics! Call them directly?
“Yep,” he said, and smiled quietly.
Years later, those rare relics are now entrusted to the Olympic Museum in Lausanne, Switzerland. I’m incredibly proud of that exchange, and grateful to the kind and talented staff who facilitated such a homecoming. No doubt, Dad is cheering from the stadium upstairs.
What comes around, goes around. Postcards are sweet evidence of the time we set aside to stay in touch and to foster each others’ dreams. My aim is to keep just such kindness in circulation for another century or so.