I’m not a packrat, but I hoard one thing.

Shoes? No. That’s a good guess.

Flowers? No. That obsession belongs to the gardener man I married.

Diamonds? Oh, please. In my dreams.

I amass stationery. Can’t help myself.

A cute notecard winking at me from the store shelf. A spry little boxed set. Darling notepads. Greeting cards. Envelopes.

Stationery sends me over the moon and back to my roots. Each piece a miniature ad campaign.

Selling the message. Singing the jingle. Swaying the heart of this Hallmark shopgirl turned copywriter turned blogger.

Books are irresistible to me. Only makes sense to adore their smaller siblings.

Stationery tells short, short stories. Briefer than novelettes. Briefer than some poems.

While substantial letters between important people aspire to grow up and be published, most stationery finds fulfillment in the common exchange of private lives shared. In the precious time it takes time to handwrite the page. To ink out whispers. Giggles. Smiles. Tears.

My husband collects plants in his garden, flowers to flood the beds. Likewise, I think my obsession with stationery is a worthwhile vice. Beautiful. Creative. Relatively inexpensive.

Best of all, though stationery is lovely blank, I can write WORDS on it.

I dig electronic communication. Oh yes, I do. But there’s nothing quite like the written word on paper.

For the word of God is alive and powerful. It is sharper than the sharpest two-edged sword, cutting between soul and spirit, between joint and marrow. It exposes our innermost thoughts and desires. Hebrews 4:12 NLT

Be Still My Beating Heart by a younger Sting. Weren’t we all younger in 1987? Happy Valentine’s Eve!