Any of you miss getting real letters? Or SENDING real letters?
Yesterday during a session with my therapist, I talked about how much I miss walking to the mailbox. That simple activity brought me so much joy when I was younger because it promised many happy returns. Well at least it did from my best friend, and my Granny Blackburn. Towards the end of my grade school career, I added a pen pal who has now become one of my very good friends as well.
I know that I’ve written about the importance of keeping in touch before, but maybe I didn’t really relay that message as strongly as I wanted to. It started with this post.
Stamps have always been an integral part of my letter writing process. The more colorful the better. I relayed the message about my love of Circus stamps that came out during a summer vacation of grade school, but the importance of those stamps were never told. I did every thing that I could to afford that book of stamps. For a 12 year old that includes things like stuffing envelopes for your pastor after school, so that you can feel honest about money made. I needed $5.80 to purchase, but I also needed a way to get the stamps. My parents still didn’t allow me to walk far distances alone, and I couldn’t drive (ahem, legally) so that was out. So I turned to my bestie and SHE purchased the stamps for me with hard earned babysitting money, and sent them via mail. Then the wait began. I felt like the post office hated me, and I looked out for the postal worker day in and out. I’m sure that she felt the same about me waiting on payment. These were beautiful to me. I really only wanted them for the elephant, since clowns kind of freak me out. Thanks Pennywise!
Which brings me back to my point. The simple act of penning a letter, no matter how long or short, sealing it in an envelope, placing a stamp in the upper right hand corner, and leaving out of my house to walk to the nearest mailbox is no longer an option for me. Most of the mailboxes are storage spaces for mail carriers. I can leave the mail in my mailbox to be picked up, but believe it or not, my mail carrier doesn’t know what it means when I put the red flag up on my mailbox. This makes me sad.
Maybe the mailbox not being on the nearest corner has made me lazy. Not liking the fact that I have to get into my car to drop mail off, or stalk the mail carrier to take my written letters for delivery, isn’t the problem at all. Not having the simple pleasures in life is the problem.
Are there any old time traditions that you wish that you didn’t have to label as “old time?” Let’s talk about it. Until then, I’m off to write a letter.