26/01/2026
Last week I bought what I thought was a framed postcard at an op shop. $2. I chose it for the image — a beautiful door with a wreath — but the real gift was inside.
It turned out to be a handwritten greeting card, dated April 1, 2011. From Eileen to Beth, writing about a visit to the Botanical Gardens in the Bronx.
Beth also writes that her cousin Maggie, from Ohio, drew the picture on the stationery. “It’s the front of our apartment building at 22 Irving Place.”
So I went looking. And there it was — Gramercy Park. The very same door. 🗽
A small, ordinary moment from someone else’s life, travelling quietly through time and ending up in my hands.
I’m going to send a handwritten note back to that address now,
with a copy of this card, and see what happens.
You never know what stories are waiting inside the things that catch your eye.
Stay tuned. ✉️✨
