Nina arrived early at the coffee shop near campus in Tempe. The drive up from Tucson was faster than she expected. Nora slid into the booth at 9am sharp. “You’re glowing,” Nina said.
“Nerves.” Nora grinned. “Two years in Taipei, three weeks to learn Mandarin.”
They ordered. Nina nudged a package across the table. She’d wrapped the book of postcards the night before, Navajo Textiles, each page a detachable card with a different striking design. Almost too good to take apart.

Nora opened it and smiled. “These are perfect. They will remind me where I came from. And, we can keep them! I’ll send them back to you.”
She flipped through the cards. “My grandmother did this. Sent us postcards from every trip. Maybe that’s why I love to travel.”
“I want to hear all about it,” Nina said. “Something to look forward to in the mailbox.”
“Deal.”
They talked until Nora had to leave for meetings. Nina hugged her friend outside, watched her disappear into the parking garage. On the drive back to Tucson, she thought about when she might travel again. Someday.





In Minnesota, George came across a box of old stationery while cleaning out a drawer in the office. He’d been ignoring this stuff too long, but it had to be done. He was surprised to find a bunch of notecards and envelopes, postcards from their own travels, even some stamps. Jennie must have tucked them away years ago, then forgotten.
He shuffled through the stack, smiled, and thought about their grandchildren.
Emma, sixteen, newly licensed, texting him sunset photos. Jack, thirteen, reading everything, and his own library growing. Lily, nine, from whom he routinely received animal drawings in manila envelopes.
He wrote to Emma first:
Found this sunset and thought of you – keep your eyes on the horizon! Love, Grandpa
Then, to Jack:
You can find a library in every place. Hope you go some day, and your collection grows. Love, Grandpa
Finally, to Lily, though his hand was aching:
For my favorite artist: a cat to inspire your next drawing. Keep sending pictures. Love, Grandpa
He addressed the cards and peeled the Forever stamps from their yellowed backing. The afternoon sun was glinting off the glassy surface of the snow as George walked down the drive and out to the mailbox. These should get there before Christmas, he thought. Next he’d knock the icicles off the eves over the porch steps, then make dinner.



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