The Provo Museum of Postal Art

  Diary. Tuesday. April 16. 2024 Woke up at 610 this morning with a headache and sore neck. We didn’t get to sleep last night until after midnight, which always leaves me a wreck the next day. So I didn’t get a proper haiku written. Instead I just took out my handy dandy ‘poet for hire’ sign to the kolache bakery from 7 until 11.  Today’s haul was 40 bucks.  I was pretty proud of myself for bringing in that much until I talked to daughter Madel, who told me that grandson Deisel made $400 last night doing doordash for just a few hours.  I guess I’m in the wrong bizness. I was hired to write one poem by a professional photographer and artist (that’s what her bizness card said, anyway.) About loving yourself and the life around you.  Here is what ChatGPT produced: In the glow of dawn's first light, where dreams are spun so bright,   There lies a whispered promise, in the morning's gentle sight.   Each day unfurls like petals, in a dance of bold ...

  I've given up on postcards. I like to create them and send them to real live people, but like you say the price is getting ridiculous. Besides, postal art no longer fits into my Life Triangle. I wrote it down and shared it with Amy after General Conference last Sunday.  It looks like this (you have to draw in the lines from one subject to the next to get the geometric figure of a triangle):                                                                  Christ/Temple work Amy/our marriage/our family                           ...