Yesterday, while packing up holiday gifts, I realized I misplaced my personal address book. I have had that book since 2000 and have always known exactly where it was at all times. But after a few days of searching all the usual and some unusual places, I surrendered to the idea that I wasn’t going to find the much needed address book anytime soon.
So, to the computer to send out a mass mailer requesting phone numbers and addresses from my email contacts. Much easier than determining who, out of my list of 400+ contacts, was really my targeted audience for the email. Many people responded with the requested info and my new address book (which will again be paper-based) will be that much more thorough as a result.
While most people just rattled off the facts, some included little personal notes; a happy treat this time of year. The most surprising, however, was a long letter from a woman who oversees a small private food label.
Previously when planning the move to Florida, I contacted some Florida marmalade makers asking them where they sourced their jars from. No one replied. Okay, I wasn’t really expecting a response, but still, it would have been the neighborly thing to do. In this way, my contacts were jammed packed with a lot of extraneous addresses. And in this way the woman who runs the private label became aware of my business (I am assuming by the footer which lists my blog and store pages).
She wrote to me with interest in selling my products under the private label. I wouldn’t have to worry about marketing or packaging–just cook and ship. It is something to think about, although it is completely unexpected.
I just want life to be normal. Smooth. Regulated. Boring. But I think there is something about me which predisposes my life to being immune from normal.