Maybe I’m considered to be old fashioned in today’s society, but I enjoy holding a book in my hand to read instead of looking at the words on a tablet screen. When I go shopping for something, I like to hold it in my hands, look at the exact color and try it on if it’s clothing instead of looking at items on the computer screen. Though I do necessary online shopping from time to time, I still prefer to see what I’m getting.
Another of my perks is I enjoy sending and receiving hand written notes and letters. Now I know a person these days can correspond with texting, social media messaging and though I have been known to do it that way from time to time, there is nothing like true hand written communications. There is something special and personal in linking hearts and minds when taking the time to think through the right words when taking the pen in hand and writing. Sometimes we can write things we can’t say to someone face to face, or hurriedly peck out a couple of lines on a keyboard.
A famous poet said, “Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company.” The person receiving such a personal letter, knows that there was time taken by the writer to actually find the right stationary or greeting card, the right pen to use, and to think of all the “just right” words to use.
Treasured letters written are tucked away in a special place and re-read, from time-to-time. They may be from a son, a close friend, a grandchild, or maybe a love letter from a boyfriend who later became a husband. How precious to again hold in and re-read it.
Such a find recently came when looking for a needed paper amongst other things of my father’s. I found a Mother’s Day card he had sent to his mother while he was serving during WWII and preparing to go into battle. As I read his words to his mother, tears came to my eyes. Just to see his hand writing, think of what he was going through at that time, and thinking of how my Granny felt while reading the words was meaningful. How she must have treasured and kept that card with it’s hand written message. After she was gone, apparently my dad must have wanted to keep this card as it was with his other papers.
For years my mother would write letters and cards to her close friends, to her sisters who lived away from her, and to her grandmother in California. She took the time to pick cards and write personal messages to friends and family members to remind them of their special days. Late in her life, she insisted on taking a box of greeting cards, stationery and stamps, with her to the nursing home so she could continue her corresponding.
I continue to write letters to an aunt who appreciates receiving them and to a friend who will in turn write back to me. I can’t wait to open that envelope from my friend and pull out two or three pages of her special stationery. I know she will be reporting about her garden, her bird watching, her next sewing project and the latest happenings with her three grandsons. Within a week or two, I’ll take the time to sit down and answer her letter. It is becoming a lost art, the art of hand letter writing.
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