I’ve been working on a big deadline the last few days, so my letter-writing activity is down. Saturday I sent only four pieces of mail. Two of them were Postcrossing cards traveling internationally, one to Austria and one to Belgium. The other two were letters to penpals here in the U.S., one in Georgia and one in Portland, Oregon, at the opposite corner of the country.
I also sought out another new mailbox. I’ve always noticed a tiny little post office in what looks like a tiny little house near the grounds of a seminary in my city. The building is a very old one, from before the Civil War. Originally it was on the seminary grounds, but the whole historic building was picked up and moved at some point. I’d always thought it was cute, but I’d never mailed anything from there. So I stopped by and used the mailbox outside (the Post Office wasn’t open; it closes early on Saturdays).