Monday, October 1, 2012


"One of the saddest casualties of the dehumanizing modern world has been (the) loss of the hand-written letter... The average American receives only 4 percent personal mail, of which 3.8 percent arrives at Christmas time.                                                                                                                           We sit imprisoned in our climate-controlled offices with styrofoam cups of coffee in one hand and a plastic mouse in another, and throw open computer windows in our windowless cubicles.                                           What a blessed relief when at last we limp home to our hearth and find a hand-written letter waiting for us: a real piece of paper, once wrapped inside a living tree, actually touched by human hands-- not computer generated or enhanced-- but with the blood of a pen spilled out on the page in someone's inimitable scrawl... In the modern world, writing a letter is a corporal work of mercy."                                                                              -Thomas Ellefson, 1998

Right now, waiting for me at home is a handwritten letter. 

Two years ago, I got this email...and my heart just about melted. 

Last year, my mom learned how to find and send an automated e-card. It was the sweetest things, especially knowing it took her about an hour to figure out. In fact, it took so long for her to figure out that when it came to typing a message, it said "Love, mom". 

This year, aware of that, when my mom asked what I wanted for my birthday, I told her that all I wanted was a letter. A handwritten letter, filled with stories. 

photo cred: here

And now, while I am at the coast, I know that waiting for me at home is a handwritten act of love. A letter written in inimitable scrawl. In a language only few can translate, but is my first. I won't get it for a couple more days. 
She's called already excited to see my reaction, so I know it's good. 

I can't wait. 


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