In the recesses of my closet sits an old Birkenstock shoe box full of letters: updates from a best friend, love letters from my husband-to-be, simple notes from my dad–one note addressed to “OK Slave” that must have been sent during those years I attended the University of Oklahoma. (I dared to leave the state of Texas. It did not go unnoticed.)
These letters are precious, sometimes more so than photos, because they go beyond a snapshot in time. From handwritten script, a personality is revealed, an intimacy declared, a relationship honored in the time spent to find the paper, choose the pen, seal the envelope, and post the stamp.
I still write letters, though not half as often as I used to. I have fallen into the digital tailspin and gone lazy with text messages, emails, and Facebook posts. But certain situations call for old-fashioned correspondence. A new friend of an older generation doesn’t use email; a family member has gone off the digital grid for a time; a box of good stationary holds irresistible appeal. I sit down. I choose the pen. I start with the date. It is morning, I say, or afternoon. I am on break between work and kids. And I fill the page with nonsense or goodness or maybe too much. Give a writer a pen and she won’t stop talking. But Alena Hall (in “9 Reasons Not to Abandon the Art of the Handwritten Letter”) explains why such correspondence is critical:
Long after [letters] are written and sent (and even after their senders and receivers are gone), letters and postcards remain to be read, appreciated and preserved. Whether displayed on museum shelves honoring famous historical figures or saved in a scrapbook between two old friends, letters protect the memories of lives lived in a way that technological communication cannot.
Even the memories of daily minutiae become treasured down the line.
Those tiny notes from my Dad? They often ended with the same message:
Thanks for your card. It was perfect timing, a good note for a bad day.
Email is quickly lost in an inbox full of business and promos and calendar invites. A letter, though, when placed in a box on the top shelf of a closet is easily found. Instantly remembered. Read and re-read. And forever held dear.
Spread some love. #SendALetter.
#CaringForCommunity is a blog series that spotlights the work of writers, artists, or your next-door neighbors who, without being asked and without pay, carry the light in simple but meaningful ways. These are people giving back in order to lift others up. Real life examples of compassion, concern, and inspiration.
It’s no secret honeybee populations are hurting. Colony collapse disorder, which occurs when the majority of worker bees in a hive disappear, abandoning the queen, baby bees, nurse bees, and food, is decimating hives at an astounding rate. And a shortage of honeybees can have a very real impact on our food supply. Farmers who grow crops from strawberries to squash to almonds rely on hives of traveling honeybees to pollinate their fields. No bees means no food.
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I began transcribing the entries to share with family members, and she became real to me through her words. Who was Hattie? She loved puzzles and games, especially solitaire, and she and her husband, William, played cards often with neighbors. She recorded scores of local baseball games. She looked forward to getting the mail and reading material. She enjoyed listening to the radio, especially news programs and serials. She butchered hogs on her kitchen table. She didn’t like to garden. She tended to be stout and then fat, helped along by her fondness for food and the difficulty she had in physical movement in later years. She was keenly interested in both local and national politics and remembered the anniversary of the death of FDR every year. She seems never to have lost her humor or her sense of wonder and engagement.
National Poetry Month is off and running