In today’s world of technology, digital messaging, and video chat, I still find myself fascinated by the beautiful simplicity of a personal letter. There is no comparison between opening my email inbox of 14 messages to that of opening my mailbox to one, handwritten envelope.
Don’t get me wrong. I greatly appreciate Twitter, Facebook, and Skype just as much as the next Generation Y computer wiz. In fact that may, indeed, be why I find this older method of communication more idealized and romantic, even in it’s antiquated style.
For this reason, I greatly appreciate the yellow legal pad clippings sent to me every so often by my grandmother. Sometimes she has news to report; sometimes she pens that there is “nothing of interest” to discuss but that she was simply “thinking about me.”
Maybe it’s the writer from within, but each time a personal letter comes my way I can’t help but excitedly rip open the message almost immediately, as if it were a toy a child received on Christmas day. My only regret is that I rarely respond in the same manner, hence my persistent phone calls to those who send cards (although I am trying to improve!). I simply wasn’t trained to respond by snail mail, though I adore the personal implications.
So this post is in tribute to my Grandma Barbara, who sent me a letter nearly every two weeks throughout my four-year college experience, and who from time-to-time still sends a note my way.
Maybe I’ll write you a copy of this blog post so you can understand my immense gratitude. Practice makes perfect, right?
On another note (no pun intended), I am also extremely proud of my Grandma Helen who just used Skype for the first time. How’s that for a technologically-savvy grandparent?
Bulletin board in my room with notes from many, including my grandma.