When one hears “note card,” think not of index cards; of index cards think not. No, we write today of the enveloped, folded note card that one carefully pens and then entrusts to the public servants of the various postal services to be hand delivered, for a small retainer, to another gentleperson or persons.
A nice, simple note in the mailbox works miracles sometimes. The little old gentlelady who used to live down the street or the old chum who finds himself on Queer Street might need a kind word and often rejoice in the reading of such. The note card brightens the day, soothes the soul, and touches the heart. It sometimes affects the receiver, also.
This gentleman made a goal of dashing off (not too off, mind you) five note cards a week in this year, and most weeks the gentleman met that goal. He penned thank-yous to companies for fine service, congratulated politicians on smart/good decisions (i.e., those that mirror his own, of course), and he reached out to gentlepersons with whom he had not contact for some years. Some recipients acknowledged the effort, and some did not. The thought, as the young people are wont to say, counts.
A suitable, thick-ish creased white card stock, sold on the interwebs by Master Bezos, serves this gentleman’s needs quite well. The card takes the ink of the gentleman’s daily writers with ease, and the white simplicity takes little away from the words inside the fold–as should be. Nothing ostentatious suits most gentlemen. Perhaps leave the flowery designs to those who need distractions from the message of the missive. (Note: This gentleman is aware that a missive is a longer letter than a note card, but he could not resist the alliteration here. Carry on.)
The cards provide ample room to tell the eager reader on the other end about how much he or she means to the gentleperson writing the card. It allows for a bit of intrigue but not too much. Such details should be reserved for a true letter. No, the note card is simply that: A note. “You occupy my thoughts today,” or “Remember the good olden days?” or “Hope you and the Thaumaturge were able to put you back together,” & etc. Nothing too heavy, mind you, but strong feeling should flow from ink sac to paper from your strong writing arm.
Worry little that you write yourself into a corner in the note card. It happens to all gentlepersons. Write your way out of it, as others have advised. A mark through, while taking space, is better than a faux pas. Hopefully, you can say what you wish to convey on the one quarter of the note card without resorting to filling any of the other quandrants. Too much on a note card and, again, both writer and reader find themselves wishing a for a letter.
Which way the card opens to the reader (id est, the way the card reads/the way the writer put the words on the card) remains the choice of the writer, of course, but this gentleman prefers that the card open up rather than to the left. Menus should open to the left, if they must open at all, and, of course, books should. Note cards should not, in the humble opinion of this writer.
This gentleman’s note cards find themselves enveloped by a size A6. Again, white or off-white should suffice for the gentleman. Leave colors to the libertines. Envelopes, too, may be procured on the interwebs, but an impecunious gentleperson will most likely find some at the local Walton’s Mart marketed under the brand name Case Mate.
Writing a note card takes five minutes and brings the reader much more than that in happiness. Not a bad return on the time investment, what?
Carry on.
The Rest of the Story 