Today is Postcard History’s first and likely the last Collector’s Contest. How does your collection measure up to the challenge of illustrating a list of your favorite things?
Here is how to measure your collection.
Take the days of the week, places you have visited, names of fruit, vegetables or other foods, months of the year, articles of clothing, monthly chores, or any other list you like and arrange them in no particular order. Write one sentence for each word on your list. Most of the words in the sentence must begin with the same letter as that of your chosen topic, except for articles, conjunctions and prepositions. When you finish writing your sentences, choose a card from your collection to illustrate the text.
Examples from the Postcard History files follow.
Please share your creations in the comments section below.
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An Alliterative Attempt at Amusement
On Sunday, Samantha Smothers side-saddled the sassy steed that stays at Sunny Slope Stallion Station just off the sidewalk of a side street near Smithville.
On Monday, Mr. Merrill, the mortician, made it to a meeting in Medford and mentioned the miserable monetary mess at the museum and made motions on measures, machinations, and mechanical means to mediate the meltdown.
On Tuesday, teacher of the technical trades, Thurston Tavistock talked about the team of twelve theoreticians and technicians whose theory on transportation tardiness threatens to tumble the tradition of timetables.
On Wednesday, Wanda Weatherby went to Dr. Warren Williams to whine and whimper about the worsening of her weird wart.
On Thursday, Tommy Turner traded the tawdry tan truck in which he travels the township as tax collector for a Toyota Tripper, thinking that the tariff was a travesty to traditional time and travel.
On Friday, the First Financial Fund finally financed the front façade of the Finnerty family’s footwear facility on Fenway and from Friday to forever, the Finnerty’s will feature friendly footwear by Florsheim.
On Saturday in Salem, the sober son of a soldier stood straight at Sam’s Sartorial Saloon on Samson Street to salute a semblance quite similar to his sottish sire. Sad and sorrowful sippers of Sam’s special solution stood with the soldier’s son to say, “So Long,” to the sober society.
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So, what do you say?