One of my simplest pleasures is to open up our mailbox to find in the midst of credit card offers and bills an ol’ fashioned postcard from a traveling friend, or a letter with thoughts that needed more honor and care than email could deliver. I love to sit down after work with a cup of coffee and open a letter from the other side of the country or world. The envelope is stamped, barcoded, processed, transferred and carried by so many hands, and inside is a graphological fingerprint of someone’s thoughts and feelings waiting to be considered.
Of course, if one expects to get mail from friends, one should send mail, which makes it an obvious pleasure of mine. I’m obsessed with choosing paper and cutting it to a proper size for the type of letter being composed, envelopes, color, ink, and eventually stamps—I figure if I’m going to do it, I had better do it right.
For the past four years I’ve made my own holiday card with stock cards from the paper store, stamps, a glue stick, and a seasonal photo that I print at the drugstore. I love to look at them stacked up on my desk, together, ready to be dropped off at the post office, before each goes their own way to greet friends and families at their doorsteps.
