Please Mr. Postman

I got a letter in the mail the other day. Not a card, not a thank you note, not a request for donations, not an email, not an invitation; but, an honest to God, letter. A letter with a greeting and all sorts of newsy updates from a friend I haven't seen in quite a while. Snail mail - what a concept.

While reading the letter, I could hear her speaking; just like in the movies. I could tell from the handwriting that she was taking her time penning her thoughts; and, instead of the electronic shorthand "lol", she wrote "ha ha". I really do miss getting letters. But as my mother would tell me, "you need to write one to get one back."

As a child I wrote lots of letters; and have to admit that I did so to get one back. As the youngest child in my family, my grandparents were all gone before I came along. I felt ever so slighted by not having grandparents; all my friends did. My mother had an uncle and an aunt who were still around. My father had an older sister. So I began my letter writing campaign to Uncle Ferdie, Tanta Annie and Aunt Alma.

It started as "thank you" notes for a Christmas or birthday present and became a chronicle of my youth. I wish I still had those letters. I remember sitting at my little white desk in my bedroom, with some pretty stationary and a fresh, new pen. I would tell them about my report card and what school activities I was involved in. I would tell them about outings to the beach or zoo. At Christmastime, I would laboriously list every little stocking stuffer and gift I received. Sometimes I would enclose essay's or stories that I had written (I was editor of my elementary school newspaper).

I could always count on them to find time to send me a return letter. Uncle Ferdie was a scientist and a collector of all sorts of unusual things - he would suggest books for me to read. Tanta Annie would tell me stories about the family and her weekly tennis match. Aunt Alma would tell me about the weather in Alabama and describe the changes in season.

As I grew older, I found others to write to. In college, I would set aside time every Sunday to write to the parents and friends at other schools. I had one friend in college who actually kept carbon copies of the letters she wrote. I wish I had some of the letters I wrote.

My first love was a letter writer. While away at school, he would write every week; beautiful love letters; letters that made my heart beat faster. I wish I had saved those letters. They were burned in the ritual break-up ceremony.

Often, when cleaning out a drawer or an old box I find stuffed away in the closet I'll find a letter I have saved. When I read them, I realize how full of "history" they are. My friends Polly and Donna were particularly good at writing letters (and still are). I have let my letter writing by the wayside.

I believe my generation was the last to embrace the art of letter writing. I can still hear Dean Martin ending his variety show saying, "keep those cards and letters coming in." I can recall pleading with my nieces and nephews to write to me. As much as their parents chided them to write thank you notes, I usually only got a phone call. One time in desperation I bought a book "The Art of Writing Thank You Notes" and sent it to one niece. It didn't make an impact.

Much of history as we know it has been collected from the letters of those who were there. Perhaps it is the voyeur in me, but I love to read the letters of artists and writers; presidents and kings; soldiers and lovers. They saved those letters.

I wish I had saved more of mine.