Minor Mumbles.: Cold

Showing posts with label Cold. Show all posts

Sunday, November 6, 2016

Postcard #141: "Cold #10 (Final)"

Original Card:

Stamp: "Franklin" Green Scott #300. United States Postage Stamp 1¢

Original Postmark: Douglass, Kansas. Mar 9 (?) 5 pm 1906 (assumed)

Addressed to: Miss Amy (?) Burk of St Johns ore

Message:

I am at town now.

I got the postal card you sent me.

good by [sic]

From

Gladys.

Sent via postcrossing to PackerBacker2. This is my first direct swap. Normally I don't think I would do this...but who knows maybe the direct swap thing is better. People who are interesting in receiving interesting things rather than fulfilling a collection or getting peoples names or not appearing UNFRIENDLY.
So here is the finale of the Cold series. I suppose I should type it all up so it is in one flowing story that could be read. I don't think I will do that today. I will come back to this entry and amend it with the completed written version of it.
Dat postcard tho. I found it at a recent estate sale. So fucking haunting. A beautiful degree of damage and weathering. It's so perfect for the series. I love it and I was so happy that I was able to put something great on it and send it on another trip. The card is over 100 years old. Which just blows my goddamned mind.

Yes, that is my address if you are reading and would like to send me something or start a correspondence.

Cold Series:
Part 1
Part 2

Part 3

Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7

Part 8
Part 9

Postcard #140: "Cold #9"

Cold #9. US-4308092

Flavor Text: INTERIOR VIEW CHAPEL OF THE TRANSFIGURATION

MOOSE, WYOMING

Worshipers in the Chapel of the Transfiguration have an inspiring view through a spacious plate glass window, framing lofty Grand Teton Peak which rises to an elevation of 13,766 feet.

The strength and pull of the river upon me was inexhaustible. I fought to reopen my swollen eyes the outstretched hand was still there waiting. I swung my hand around blindly hoping they would close the missing distance but instead I was drowning deep sputtering gulps of water that sought to occupy all the spaces within me. Cold, angry water that would rather be frozen. I bolstered myself on the cracking ice. I opened my eyes again hoping the hand was still there I pushed hard with all my strength, force, a power I knew to be any resources I had remaining if the hand was not there at its acme I knew I would be back in the river. My eyes opened at the crest of my push and there it was…the hand. Unwavering. I had to take it. I reached up and felt the backside of the crest. I was slipping back. I took the hand closing my fingers around the warmth. The hope. I exhaled and felt my body shift under the ice. I gazed at the person whose hand I possessed. It was her. I tried to pull my hand back but there was no longer any separation. We were one.

-TM

Transcribed by jjwood687 on Fiverr.

Sent via postcrossing to Nordbaer. I will admit. I have been delinquent. Really delinquent. I have been sitting on three postcards for about 2-3 weeks. Which is wrong, especially to the people whose addresses I am supposed to send things. This is a poor excuse but that previous person really took the wind out of my sails. I really just ceased giving shits about postcrossing. I really did not care about writing. Sharing. Anything. I wish it translated to me not buying more postcards but it hasn't. I have been making a killing at estate sales. I have been doing so well that I think I can start going through and actually getting rid of cards that are doubles or cards that are sort of lame.

So I figured I would finish off my Cold series. It has been sitting around for a long time. I really wanted to finish it off on this last card but once again...it refused to fit comfortably. So it requires another post.

Cold Series:
Part 1
Part 2

Part 3

Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7

Part 8

Sunday, October 16, 2016

Postcard #137: "Cold #8"

Flavor Text:

HORSETAIL FALLS, OREGON

Cold #8

The water around me was eager to carry me to the falls. The tree trunk was turning steadily to its side. My anchor dropped out from under me. I leaped weakly from the trunk to the rock it was resting on. My hand darted about the stone for handholds on its smooth surface. The tree trunk was still sliding to the left and it pushed me back into the water. The water did not feel cold anymore. I felt an edge but before I could slow myself down it caught me in the neck. Ice. Ice still attached to the far shore. I pulled my arm above the cracking ice. The current pulled hard against me and my waterlogged clothes. I was too weak to pull myself out of the water. My vision was blurry. I squeezed them together. It took me a moment to realize the dark blur in front of me was my own arm fumbling around on the ice struggling to keep me above the water. I squeezed my eyes together and breathed deep and when I opened them, I could already see an outstretched hand. The shackles of the river had me by the ankles.

-TM US-9295161

Transcribed by jjwood687 on Fiverr.

Sent via postcrossing to twindaddy. He is someone who shares my first name, lives in the states, and doesn't care what sort of postcard he gets. I had high hopes that I would get the rest of the story on a final card. Maybe it will be finished by Cold #9?

Cold Series:
Part 1
Part 2

Part 3

Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7

Friday, August 5, 2016

Postcard #110: Cold #7

Postcard #110: Cold #7

Front:

River and Highway in Cascade Mountains

Back:

Cold #7 US-4125595

RIVER AND HIGHWAY IN CASCADE MOUNTAINS

Pacific Northwest

My leg caught something and hooked around it. The current washed over me and pushed me up against something solid. It was a tree trunk which shifted on the large rocks it leaned upon the river bank. I wrapped my arms around the tree and tried to slide up out of the water. My head hung loosely over the side; My face sank against the bank. I tried to fill my lungs with air…water poured out of my mouth from deep within me. I anticipated my breath like I was awaiting an eclipse – for my will to live and means to live to converge. I could only sip air to quench a thirst. I could not slack. My eyes burned and I could barely make out the shore. I could feel the river on my outstretched fingertips. The trunk was sliding…gently rolling me back into the rolling river.

PUB. BY SMITH-WESTERN INC.

1133 N.W. GLISAN, PORTLAND, OREGON 97209

MIRRO-KROME ® CARD BY H.S. CROCKER CO.. INC.. FEDERAL WAY. WASH.. 98002

Transcribed by jjwood687 on Fiverr.

Sent via postcrossing to chris_in_burgundy.

Cold Series:
Part 1
Part 2

Part 3

Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Postcard #95: Cold #6

Postcard #95: Cold #6

Cold #6 US-3967985

PHOTOGRAPHER: HANS SILVESTER

FROM CATS IN THE SUN (CHRONICLE BOOKS, 1994)

Swimming now…though I could barely define what I was doing as that. My feet could not touch the river bed. My clothes were heavy, and offered a very convincing argument that I should try and see how deep the river actually was…The water was moving very fast. It was freezing and full of sharp edges. Edges of ice that would catch me all about the face and neck as I gasped for breath. Coughing now. The ice is breaking into pieces and my head collides with it. I couldn’t catch the icy shoreline and keep myself afloat. Through my clenched teeth I was bleeding sputtering diluted river water. Tired now. I was easier to swim while under water…while not being assaulted by the ice sheet. Drowning now…though when did I start? My legs were touching the floor of the river. Slippery rocks. More shallow than I thought. I did not have much farther to go…It was almost time to sleep.

Transcribed by jjwood687 on Fiverr.

Sent via postcrossing to Minna71

Cold Series:
Part 1
Part 2

Part 3

Part 4
Part 5