From today’s NYTimes, a sketch of a father and grandfather who sent postcard poems! Who’d a thunk it?

MY father was a great believer in the Postal Service, and when his grandchildren were young, his postcards to them arrived almost daily. They were plain white postcards, never the photo variety, so there was plenty of room to write on both sides, and from edge to edge. What he wrote was almost always nonsense verse, with titles like “The Mother of All French Fries,” and “Reasons to Sneeze.”

All of this to say that I did sign up for the coming August Postcard Poetry thing. This year there’s a small charge and a different way to sign up. I didn’t get up in the middle of the night to join and I made it into group two. Now I just have to figure out what I’m doing – my own postcards again (but maybe not the multiple copies – what was I thinking?) or commercial cards and if the latter, art or views of Albany… so many choices.