Handwriting has been on my mind lately.
Shortly before Christmas, I traveled to Buffalo, NY with my sister. Ostensibly to grab a package she had delivered to a US Post Office, it was also an opportunity for us to find an adventure. It seems that more often than not, when we travel south of the border, the sister and I find something to write home about.
Once we visited the Church of Transfiguration in Buffalo, NY. She made a book out of it.
Then we came across this quaint little Mexican place (and that was just an airport run.)
Our last trip, shortly before Christmas, was equally memorable. The urge to say “want to get off the highway and circle back?” grows stronger in us each time we go.
When we pulled off and circled back, we found an antique shop spilling out of an old Unity Church (whatever the hell that is. Or was.) Inside we found all matter of ephemera.
Brass doorknobs the size of a woman’s eye socket (you know, cause she used to run into those “by accident.”)
Crockery, furniture, tschotsckes, display boxes, clocks, doorframes, table legs…even letters. Handwritten letters.
Is it wrong to read someone’s letters after they’re dead? These date from 1918. The whole packet ranges from fall of 1918 to 1926. Only a few from ’26 were in the collection, but they all indicated that Mr. Kuntz was a happy man. He even announced his wedding in a birthday card to his mother.
I don’t actually know that Mr. Kuntz is dead. But the fact is his letters were deposited in a shallow box lid in a dusty corner in an antique shop by the highway in Buffalo, NY… I think he may be gone.
Gone but not forgotten.
Sister and I found them. And I read every one. I’d like to tell you his story on the pages of The Punnery. If you’re interested in the tale, leave me a comment or a note via the Facebook page.
And, in case you’re not aware, I do have a Punnery Facebook page. I post other things there (in a more frequent manner.)