Wednesday, April 02, 2008

Mail from my dad...

Dear Caroline,

How are you? I am fine. The weather in Pittsburgh...

These days, mail from my dad is generally the electronic kind. He most recently sent me a NYT article about book tastes being a dealbreaker in romantic entanglements. Since I dated many a sci-fi reading male and am friends with Babs who reads books I can't stand and I read books she can't stand and we're still friends, I don't think I would break up with someone based ONLY on their book taste.

But I was talking about letters. Pre-e, that is, before I had email, my father would cut out the Metropolitan Diary from the New York Times, print out a sermon from Craig Barnes, and send them to me in a number ten business size envelope, with a "Love, Dad" on a Post-it.

My dad generally uses cool stamps, so often I will save the envelopes he mails checks in, just because I like the stamp. This astounds Sally, when she is helping me rid my apartment of its detritus, but she allows me a few quirks.

I'm kind of exited that April is "letters" as so much of my life has been about writing and receiving mail of the personal sort. Oh, I meant excited. That was one of the words my maternal grandmother would correct my spelling on in our correspondence. Later in her years, her spelling and typing got worse, so it evened out. I have a card from her on my refrigerator--she used the same manual typewriter for over 20 years.

Lorelei and I had a long correspondence that is still going, although these days the gaps between letters yawn long. When we were just getting to be close, at the end of my senior year of high school, I moved and she went on vacation, and we wrote and wrote and wrote. This was pre-email, pre-cell phones--we often would write 3 letters in one day, numbering the envelopes. We were crazy, but it meant that I had mail every day my freshman year of college. I've pulled some of those letters out and I don't know if I'll quote them, but they will at least give me things to write about when I write about letters.


In other news, the second therapist that was recommended only works on Tues-Wed, which are crazy days for me. So I've put in a voice mail to the third therapist on the list. The lady I saw Monday seems like she will do nicely, but since this next therapist (step right up!) will be #4 in 5 years, I'd like to do a good look around before I settle. And Ms. Monday night is fine with that.

I'm pooped! I may just turn on the TV and watch American Idol...tomorrow is soon enough to play games of Scramble, bring up my laundry, and start doing research for my taxes.

Yours til Niagara Falls,

Sarah Louise

1 comment:

Katrina said...

Every time I read of someone who still communicates through actual letters on paper, I feel a twinge of jealousy, or guilt, or something else I can't put my finger on that stirs me to think, "I should write some letters to some people." But then it goes away. I wish it wouldn't!