Weeks later, I score a cache of old postcards from the Poconos and Catskills on eBay, the sort that end up in family albums, stuck in some box in the attic. "Our Honeymoon." In idyllic scenes at Penn Hills, The Homowack Lodge, Grossinger's, and a fourth resort in the Poconos which we aren't identifying, vacation-goers and honeymooners frolic in the mountains.
They have a surreal quality. Ephemeral, disposable, they served only one purpose—to let someone know "I'm here. I'm thinking of you." It feels a bit like social media does sometimes, where you'll snap a photo of some vista, sometimes to bring those you care about a bit closer to you. And like social media, the postcards manage to be a little impersonal: "I didn't quite care enough to write a letter." It's analog Foursquare, a non-digital check-in.
Over the past few years, I've gone back to the places in the postcards.
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