Simple Suggestion #95... Write letters to loved ones

Here's a suggestion I sort of made once before, and the comments on that moodling, Simple Pleasures... and Letters, told me that just the idea of letters makes people happy. So I'll run the risk of repeating myself, because I love letters, too!

In the late eighties, I participated in a travelling show for a year, and one of the tunes that was performed was basically a letter carrier's commentary on his work (before email and internet!), tinged with a bit of sadness:

Where are the love letters
that always mean so much
and the friendly little notes
they send to keep in touch?
They're not in my bag anymore...

I think a lot of us can relate as we open our mail day after day. The postal system used to be the way to keep in touch with loved ones, but now it's almost strictly business. Credit card applications, bills, charity fundraising letters, cable company offers... but wait, what's this? Could it be a real letter from a real person I know??! Be still, my beating heart! There's just something wonderful about receiving a handwritten snippet of someone else's life... knowing that they cared enough to sit with pen and paper and send a message with stamp. Or an email that isn't just a forwarded joke with hardly a personal word.

Writing a letter to a dear friend can be an exercise in storytelling, self-discovery, or sheer enjoyment. In my closet, on the top shelf with the extra bedsheets, sit two precious boxes of letters. My boxes hold something of a summary of my favourite friend's life. She has an identical set of boxes at her house that hold something of a summary of my life. Once, we got our boxes together, spread letters all over the floor, drank wine, and giggled at the girls we used to be. We've been writing to each other since we were nine years old, sometimes when we were in the same city, always with plenty of affection. Often, in my letters to her, I have been able to name a deep longing or a difficult emotion... or tell an embarrassing story on myself as an exercise in honesty and humility. Letters can be a form of confession and healing -- or they can be just plain silly fun. (I also have a little packet of love letters from my husband, but as I've said before, he's a private kind of guy, so that's as much as I'll say about that.)

The last letter I wrote happened in a rainy cafe when I had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do. What a pleasure it was to sit and write just to share some time with a friend. And what a pleasure it was to receive a letter in return not two weeks later. A gift, in the form of a heartfelt letter!! Woo hoo!

Do you remember the last letter you wrote with pen, on paper? The last one you received? Somehow, those missives are more deeply considered, the words made to fit the moment more tightly than something composed on the fly at a keyboard. But keyboards are good, too, when the message is just right. So, today's suggestion is simply to write a letter, with pen, or keyboard, or whatever works for you. Then, put it into an envelope, stick on a stamp, and S.W.A.K. (seal with a kiss)! Or, hit send!

P.S. Looking for more Simple Suggestions? Try here.

Simple pleasures... and letters

On Friday, I received a bona fide letter from my auntie Kay. I can't begin to tell you how happy it made me. Not that she was sending me amazing anecdotes, incredible insights or wondrous wisdom -- she was just connecting with me using one of my favourite methods of all time. I also liked the little newspaper joke clippings she tucked into her card. One of them made me laugh out loud. I'll post it at the bottom, I promise.

When my children were small, I was a stay-home-mom who hovered in the living room watching for the letter carrier, exulting when George brought me a letter (we were on a first name basis). Email was in its infancy, so when babes were napping, I often pulled out some stationery and wrote a card or letter to friends who weren't yet internet savvy, and then I watched George for responses. In those days, he didn't often disappoint, as I had quite a few penpals, and even though my dearest penpal/friend lived in the same city at the time, we still wrote quite a few letters beyond our weekly Wednesday coffee visits. Now she's 1, 296 km away, but we still use pen and paper occasionally even though we also use email, Facebook and Skype.

Of course, we are the odd women out, as are my aunties, who still use snail mail. Though I'm well aware that hardly anyone writes letters anymore, I was a little bit shocked last week when my youngest daughter asked me to teach her how to write. She had brief lessons in grade three, and has forgotten every bit of them because "no one writes anymore, Mom. We type, or we print." I quizzed my older girls about their handwriting habits and learned that Fourteen-year-old never writes, and can't remember how to form capital letters, while Seventeen-year-old writes more often than printing because "it's faster." Of course, that handwriting is only when she isn't typing. My husband, being a computer guy, has never used handwriting much at all, other than in the love letters I have stashed in a special place.

In my books, there's nothing as satisfying as sitting down with a few blank sheets of paper and a good pen, the kind that flows perfectly with just the right amount of pressure on the page, and filling an envelope with an ink moodling dialogue about daily life for a far away friend who may reply on a similarly lazy afternoon. Letters have a unique way of capturing a moment in time through the expressive loops and lines of cursive writing. They seem to be more thoughtful and considered than rapidly typed emails and text messages, because rarely does a sentence end the way it was begun in a person's mind. I edit as I write, choosing just the right words, adjusting phrases before they become permanent on paper, adding words with a ^ here and there, underlining for emphasis. It's a pleasure I don't allow myself often enough.

And receiving a letter, a written record, a moment from someone else's lifetime, is like receiving a treasure. The paper bears the imprint of someone special at a particular moment -- a moment they chose to spend sharing thoughts across the miles. I've kept a few treasured letters from my grandmothers, and two boxes of "growing up letters" exchanged with the above mentioned dearest penpal/friend. I suppose it can be argued that email does the same thing as letters do, but most of the emails I receive are forwarded jokes, inspirational anecdotes and prayers that don't hold the same sort of thoughtful care that handwritten letters like my auntie's do. I do appreciate personal email messages, but their computer fonts just don't warm the heart the way handwriting does, no matter how messy it can get. It's rare for me to get a handwritten letter and not have the immediate urge to respond. I temper that, though, because I don't want to be like a golden retriever puppy, all paws and tongue, bowling people over with my enthusiastic response and expectation for another letter treat.

So, Auntie Kay, I've checked my "immediate reply" impulse, but I want you to know that your letter was a joy to receive, and I promise I'll give it a couple of weeks and then reply. Thanks for your news, and for the jokes. As promised, here's the one that made me chuckle:

There was a very self-sufficient blind man, who did a lot of traveling alone. He was making his first trip to Texas and happened to be seated next to a Texan on the flight. The Texan spent a lot of time telling him how everything is bigger and better in Texas. By the time the blind man had reached his destination, a large resort hotel, he was very excited about being in Texas. The long trip had worn him out a little so he decided to stop at the bar for a small soda and a light snack before going up to his room to unpack his clothes. When the waitress set down his drink, it was in a huge mug. "Wow, I had heard everything in Texas is bigger," he told her. "That's right," she replied. The blind man ate his snack and finished his drink. After drinking such a large amount, it was only natural his next stop was going to have to be the restroom. He asked the waitress for directions. She told him to turn left at the register and it would be the second door on the right. He reached the first door and continued down the hall. A few steps later he stumbled slightly and missed the second door altogether and ended up going through the third door instead. Not realising he had entered the swimming area, he walked forward and immediately fell into the swimming pool. Remembering everything he had heard about things being bigger in Texas, as soon as he had his head above water he started shouting, "Don't flush! Don't flush!"