There’s something about the midmorning sound of the mail truck. Why does it stir my anticipation? What memories does it awaken? Childhood heart shaped valentines in red envelopes? Birthday cards from doting aunts, holding cash in surprising amounts? Paychecks from jobs, the sight of the company logo eliciting feelings of security? Now, in the midst of COVID, it is often the high point in my day.
I slip on shoes and trot down to the mailbox. What do my eager hands grasp? The electric bill. An energy survey. “Sell-off of the century –don’t miss it!” from a local auto dealership. An ad from Rite Aid – toothpaste on sale- the excitement never ends. A retirement community brochure – can’t wait! Credit card offers; sometimes 3 or 4 in one batch of mail. UNH brochures – Do they know how old I am? Political ads ad nauseum. A card from the Weight Loss Center. However did they know?
On and on it goes.
Whatever happened to the handwritten letter from an old friend, the gilt edged thank you note in a pastel envelope, the piece of mail that lightens the day, asking for nothing? No, no. Too time-consuming. On to texts, emoticons, e-cards, Instagram.
I’ll never forget coming home to a 4 page handwritten letter from a cousin I haven’t seen in years, telling the story of his early childhood memories of our loving grandma. It’s in a box of treasured things, shared to delight sisters and other cousins. He just sat down and took the time.
Maybe we need to revive “Snail Mail”.
