m a i l

I love a scene in an Austen movie where two girls are pouring over a letter from the morning's mail.  

  They discuss the nuances of what is implied as they “read between the lines” as well 

as examine the penmanship and what it says about the mood of the person writing. 

While the emails received in another movie, You've Got Mail, may be just as exciting to read, 

there's something lost without paper to hold and penmanship to enjoy, 

not to mention the little piece of art affixed in the upper right corner of the 

envelope that arrives tucked in between bills and flyers.

Virginia Wolf said, "I like opening an envelope and thinking myself loved." 

At our recent mentor meeting I tried to instill some enthusiasm for letter writing, 

sending cards and thank you notes 

to our young women––millennial texters every one of them.

So much of the history we know is because of letters people wrote. 

(We certainly aren't going to print all the emails we receive.) 

I'm so thankful for the letters my parents kept––to me they have become

stories between them and their parents, siblings and friends. 

Reading them is a step back in time, 

and I'm even learning some things about myself.

I showed the girls some of the cards and notes I've received from one friend

in particular who loves to create cards or embellish them. 

She finds an inspiring quote to include in the note, or

a verse of scripture. They are always uplifting.

We talked about how encouraging a note can be to a sick friend or a discouraged friend.

Or just a note to say why we are grateful for a friendship.

Taking a little time to find pen, paper, a stamp and writing a note is hugely encouraging. 

And at only the cost of a stamp and a little time.

We gave the young women a set of notecards and stamps to 

help them on their way.

I think they caught the vision.

Some texted me the next day that they were writing a note or two.

Here's a stack of letters I haven't read yet. His and hers.  

My parents' love letters.

Maybe you can read the note my mother, as a young bride,

left for posterity under the pink ribbon.

If she had known what her second daughter 

would be like, she may have added, 

"And that means you, Podso!"