Mark’s Commonplace Book

My collection holds both Denmark’s first stamps from 1851 and its last from 2025 — deliberately designed to echo those originals. Between them lies the entire lifespan of Danish letter post in the stamp era, alpha to omega. Every other dead country in my albums was killed by history’s violence or ambition. Denmark alone died of natural causes, having simply lived long enough to see its purpose fulfilled and surpassed.

Perhaps in fifty years collectors will hold the final stamps of Norway, Sweden, Finland — the other Nordic nations already following Denmark’s postal lead. Perhaps stamps themselves will join telegrams and Morse code in the museum of obsolete communications. Or perhaps we will hold Greenland’s last stamps as part of Denmark, marking not technological evolution but territorial loss — another addition to the graveyard, carved not by progress but by power.

Denmark will always be the first to choose its postal ending. Whether it can prevent other endings being chosen for it remains to be seen.

Every Christmas brings its share of surprises—some wrapped in paper, some in sentiment. But in December 2024, I unwrapped something that felt like it had time-traveled straight from a Spanish galleon: two battered coins, gifted by my friend Wayne along with a certificate signed by an anthropologist named Frank Bergevin. The note was simple: “Authentic Spanish Cobs and Maravedis, circa 1600–1700 AD.” I blinked. Then I stared. Then I did what any curious collector would do—I started digging.

A Philatelic Grand Prix On fifteen small pieces of paper.

The 1967 Monaco racing car stamps (catalog S40606) represent one of those quietly remarkable moments when a very small country decided to tell a very large story. Monaco, which you could walk across in twenty minutes if you weren't distracted by the casinos, chose to commemorate its 25th Grand Prix with a set of eight stamps that somehow managed to capture the entire history of people going fast in cars.

A friend asked me to take a look at an old Waltham pocket watch that's been sitting in a drawer for years. It's not running, but it's in decent shape overall. I thought I'd document the restoration process here as I work through it.

I recently stumbled upon what can only be described as philatelic gold—a magnificent set of Bahamas stamps celebrating the rogues and heroes of the Golden Age of Piracy. Now, I'll freely admit that pirates have held me in their thrall since childhood, so discovering stamps that marry my twin obsessions of postal history and buccaneering was rather like finding a perfectly preserved treasure map in the attic. But this particular quartet isn't just thematically appealing; it features some of the most exquisite artwork I've encountered on any stamp. Each piece is a miniature masterpiece, filled with detail and layers of depth.

During the period from 1650 to 1720, piracy was at its peak. Contrary to popular belief, there were likely no more than 20 pirate ships and less than 2000 men at any given time. By comparison, there were around 80000 legitimate sailors during the same period. The total number of pirate ships that existed during this era was less than 1000, with most being captured, sold, or repurposed.