The Art of Correspondence

I always enjoyed writing letters. Given the constraints of time due to work and other nagging immediacies, I put off letter writing till more convenient times. These days, those most convenient times are few and far between. I am currently enjoying a brief break thanks to the holiday laissez-faire. And I am writing some long overdue letters.

In this impersonal era of technology, it's a pleasure to write (and receive) a letter in long hand. So few people do it anymore which is rather a tragedy. My mother was a devotee of the long hand written letter and indeed, she wrote a most satisfying letter full of details and exchanges. While she eventually adapted to the medium of e-mail, it never fully replaced her long hand written letters, many of which I kept.

In my teens and with my mother's encouragement, I collected a large number of pen pals. I wrote to all of them in long hand and exchanged hand made gifts with them during the holidays. Many were from the East Coast, one was from Ireland, another from Japan, several in the U.K. and one in Belgium. I wrote to them for many years but I met only one of them in person--Brooklyn Sue, who has now become a personal friend.

Times change and technology has eased the ability to correspond with people. E-cards, text messages and e-mails have easily replaced the personalized note. And if technology makes it easier to reach out to people, I guess it means we're still corresponding...just in a less intimate way.

At the holidays, I often will get around six hand written letters. They're generally from older relatives and family friends of my parents' generation. These are the people that I want to respond to in a fashion they'd appreciate--the old fashioned way. In long hand.

Thanks to the luxury of having some time off and discouraging weather which keeps me indoors, I took pen in hand yesterday and wrote nine individual letters to some special people: multiple relatives in London, my Godmother (a delightful Liverpudlian named Ann), my Aunt and Uncle in Arizona, my Texas friend Wanda (who guilted me into getting married) and Sonia, the mother of my old English boyfriend. The relationship with the boyfriend ended in 1982, but I hit it off so well with his family that I have maintained contact with them for 26 years. Sonia just lost her husband this year so I've been in contact with her a few times throughout the year. I worry about her.

When I concluded the letter writing marathon, my right hand ached. But the satisfaction of folding the letters and sealing the envelopes more than made up for it.