I don't get much mail - actually, since coming to Canada, I haven't received any at all. They have a marvelous system here: if you post a sign saying, "No Junk Mail" on your mailbox...the mail carrier doesn't give you any. At all. I wonder how much postage and paper is saved because of this? Although I think I'd actually be pretty excited to see a Safeway flyer with my name on it, just to drive home the point that I'm actually here.
But I like mail. Also, I like sending mail to other people. I like stamps, and fresh stationary, and cracking open the groovy address book I bought from a Newsagents' when I was twelve (it has a koala roller-blading on it). I particularly like writing postcards. They're a nice way of showing people you care about them without being required to settle in for an entire day of letter writing. They fit my attention span - and thanks to specialty card stores with snarky stock - often fulfill my need to spread terrible puns around the world (The "Eh" Team, anyone?).
What I'm terrible at is actually mailing the darn things off. But with my littlest sis' birthday...holy crap, tomorrow? Oh, no!...I had to go mail some things off anyway. The closest post office to us, I discovered, is in a Drug Store down on Kensington. This was a delightful discovery. Next time I need prompting, I can entice myself with promises to go look at nail polish after I post things.
On my way home, I decided to investigate Pages on Kensington. They're an independent bookstore that Collin had mentioned thinking I would enjoy. I did. It's a wonderful little shop with an interesting selection of books - no genre fiction ("Alas!" said my mystery-loving soul), but general fiction, biographies, children's lit, history, science, horticulture, cooking, poetry, religion, and art. It is an eclectic collection that clearly is a labour of love. I didn't find the book I was looking for, but I did discover several books that I may have to go back and purchase.
I had barely left the bookstore when I brief rain shower began and I was persuaded to take refuge in the coffee shop across the street. Really, weather, bend my arm why don't you? Higher Ground, not to wax too rhapsodic, is a glorious place. Plenty of tables, and space, but still has the intimacy of a whole-in-the-wall joint. There are lots of outlets for laptops, and they even have a liquor license. I foresee many an afternoon spent huddled by their bay window, with Lappy and a nice glass of wine before me.
But I like mail. Also, I like sending mail to other people. I like stamps, and fresh stationary, and cracking open the groovy address book I bought from a Newsagents' when I was twelve (it has a koala roller-blading on it). I particularly like writing postcards. They're a nice way of showing people you care about them without being required to settle in for an entire day of letter writing. They fit my attention span - and thanks to specialty card stores with snarky stock - often fulfill my need to spread terrible puns around the world (The "Eh" Team, anyone?).
What I'm terrible at is actually mailing the darn things off. But with my littlest sis' birthday...holy crap, tomorrow? Oh, no!...I had to go mail some things off anyway. The closest post office to us, I discovered, is in a Drug Store down on Kensington. This was a delightful discovery. Next time I need prompting, I can entice myself with promises to go look at nail polish after I post things.
On my way home, I decided to investigate Pages on Kensington. They're an independent bookstore that Collin had mentioned thinking I would enjoy. I did. It's a wonderful little shop with an interesting selection of books - no genre fiction ("Alas!" said my mystery-loving soul), but general fiction, biographies, children's lit, history, science, horticulture, cooking, poetry, religion, and art. It is an eclectic collection that clearly is a labour of love. I didn't find the book I was looking for, but I did discover several books that I may have to go back and purchase.
I had barely left the bookstore when I brief rain shower began and I was persuaded to take refuge in the coffee shop across the street. Really, weather, bend my arm why don't you? Higher Ground, not to wax too rhapsodic, is a glorious place. Plenty of tables, and space, but still has the intimacy of a whole-in-the-wall joint. There are lots of outlets for laptops, and they even have a liquor license. I foresee many an afternoon spent huddled by their bay window, with Lappy and a nice glass of wine before me.
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