True, mail is slow, email is instantaneous. I love how in a
matter of seconds what I have written via email will reach its destination, whether
it is next door or the other side of the world. Questions can be answered
within a day verses a week. Email has
many remarkable attributes but will never be as wonderful, as intimate as an
actual letter. ‘Dreamy’ is holding a
piece of paper, a love note, next to your heart that a sweetheart has
written. There is something magical seeing
a person’s handwriting verses the font that appears on a computer screen. Mail gives us something tangible to hold on
to, cling to after someone is gone. Email
is a virtual correspondence, to me not as personal. Hand written letters are
our own personal time machines, they allow us to glimpse into our past, remind
us of whom we were, the people who traveled in and out of our lives.
In the process of searching the basement for a box of old
family photos to give my sister I rediscovered one of my many boxes of old
letters and keepsakes. Feeling nostalgic
I grabbed the box, spent the next few hours journeying back into my past. Sitting on my bed I took out the bundles of
mail neatly held together by rubber bands, smiling as I separated them, reading
the names and location on the return addresses. It felt as if it was Christmas
in May as I pulled out souvenirs of my younger days; old football and graduation
programs, a few business cards, an unused airplane ticket, soap on a rope and a
few other “interesting” trinkets. The
letters tied together by a simple white scarf I held for a few minutes, not
wanting to let go. I ran my fingers over
his last return address, HC-5 Box 84, FPO San Francisco, Agana Guam 96637.
Twenty five years ago his hands wrote my address, my beautiful last
letter. I leaned my head against the
wall, sighed, amazed at how much time had passed, saddened at how much life he
has missed. I put his letters aside; I
wanted to read the letters I had forgotten, not relive what my heart has
memorized.
The memories that had lapsed, long forgotten in the recesses
of my brain, came to life as I sat Indian style with a pillow on my lap and
read. When I finished each letter, I placed them neatly in piles around me. Notes from high school had me
laughing the hardest. Apparently thirty cents bought a soda, because that is
what my secret sister gave me to buy a coke “to go with that scrumptious
dinner.” A small faded piece of paper
reminded me my first secret sister was Jennifer McCarthy, who lived on Camelot
Drive in Odenton. Teenage frustration at
life, being forced to move during high school was clearly evident in a single
page letter dated 14 November 1977 with one sentence written over and over
again, “I hate LA” (Louisiana) from my friend Margaret. However, the subject did change
in her P.S., “What do you mean- you are close to having a boyfriend?” I must
confess I am curious now who the close to was as well?? Other than a handful of correspondences from
St. James School (my first boyfriend) most of my high school letters are notes
passed between friends discussing what boys were cute, recalling the countless
dateless dances and heartbreak over not being liked by a crush. Most amusing
were the notes discussing what happened over the weekends. The letter post
marked May 1981 Colorado Springs, Colorado reminded me how much and how often
my ‘big brother’ worried about me. He
was busy studying for finals but wanted to take time to write, remind me to be
safe, have fun but be good at prom. My
last letter as a senior in high school; would be the first of many letters I
would receive from the zip code 21412. Dated
20 May 1981, 3rd class midshipmen, 2nd company 83, wrote to thank me
for our walk the weekend before, “I think you’re a doll unfortunately
awkwardness prevailed much of the time we were together. Time however, does have a way of seasoning
people. You are beautiful… Don’t close the door to romance.” I don’t remember Midshipmen Evans so I think
the door must have closed.
The letters from my college years were
much different than the ones previously; they are evidence of my transition
from a teenager to young lady, no longer school girl notes, the majority were
from men vying for my attention. The many various relationships witnessed and
recorded by pen and paper delivered by the U.S. Post Office. Sifting through
the piles I was reminded of the Rugby player from 5th Company who
wrote me in August of 1981. As I read his letters my memory came alive; he was
from Tucson, Arizona and I met him while walking downtown with my friend
Helen. Our introduction; he made a funny
remark about how my ice cream cone was bigger than I was. It was melting down my hand faster than I could
eat it. He came to my rescue, retrieved
a napkin and while I cleaned my hands he finished my cone. I believe his pick up line was something to
the effect, since we had officially shared germs I had to go out with him. He
introduced me to the game of rugby and I introduced him to how fickle girls
could be. Another 3rd
classman quickly caught my attention and I dated him for the next several
months. My mailbox was now receiving mail
from 7th company no longer 5th.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the Christmas card I received dated 12 August 1982. “I was thinking about you, and that made me think about Christmas.” A post card from San Francisco reminded me at one time I was called Wild Woman #2 by my brother-in-laws friends. My first card of 1983, came from Ann Flight, 1/1/83 a quick note telling me the cookies I made were delish and Happy 1983. I smiled at her signature, “Ma”. There were many letters and cards from ‘Ma’. The largest Valentine’s Day card I have ever received arrived in February 1983 from “Sunny California.” It cost 33 cents to send. Less than a month later, post marked March 9, 1983 San Diego, my introduction to the world of break-up letters. He was a pilot, gorgeous, he was intelligent, he was sweet and I was not meant for him. The ‘break-up’ was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. The first letter to break my heart was sent December 1st, 1983 from Pensacola, Florida. At the time it brought tears to my eyes, now I see the humor in it. He was responding to a letter I had written him on my plane ride home from the Army Navy game in California. I was confused and needed to know what future he saw with me. He wrote all his friends were getting married and he was not ready for any kind of ‘formal commitment’. He went on to explain he was pretty sure he loved me, but maybe he should refrain from using the word love so often when we spoke and wrote each other. What made me chuckle, he signed his letter, “Love you always.” Two weeks later I received a Christmas card inviting me down to Pensacola to visit, he missed me. The uncertainty of love and life born on the pages of my letters, now stored in the basement.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the Christmas card I received dated 12 August 1982. “I was thinking about you, and that made me think about Christmas.” A post card from San Francisco reminded me at one time I was called Wild Woman #2 by my brother-in-laws friends. My first card of 1983, came from Ann Flight, 1/1/83 a quick note telling me the cookies I made were delish and Happy 1983. I smiled at her signature, “Ma”. There were many letters and cards from ‘Ma’. The largest Valentine’s Day card I have ever received arrived in February 1983 from “Sunny California.” It cost 33 cents to send. Less than a month later, post marked March 9, 1983 San Diego, my introduction to the world of break-up letters. He was a pilot, gorgeous, he was intelligent, he was sweet and I was not meant for him. The ‘break-up’ was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. The first letter to break my heart was sent December 1st, 1983 from Pensacola, Florida. At the time it brought tears to my eyes, now I see the humor in it. He was responding to a letter I had written him on my plane ride home from the Army Navy game in California. I was confused and needed to know what future he saw with me. He wrote all his friends were getting married and he was not ready for any kind of ‘formal commitment’. He went on to explain he was pretty sure he loved me, but maybe he should refrain from using the word love so often when we spoke and wrote each other. What made me chuckle, he signed his letter, “Love you always.” Two weeks later I received a Christmas card inviting me down to Pensacola to visit, he missed me. The uncertainty of love and life born on the pages of my letters, now stored in the basement.
Definition of bad timing: Christmas 1984, I received cards
from Corpus Christi, Texas; Pensacola, Florida; San Diego, California; Alamogordo,
New Mexico and Norfolk, Virginia. It
seemed every man I had seriously dated or had secretly been in love with sent
me a card letting me know they were thinking about me, asking how I was, they
missed me and were hoping I would consider visiting them. I never answered any of them; I was pregnant
with my daughter. At the time it was
painful, but now it is almost comical at how ironic it all was.
The funniest letters, the best illustrators of my younger
years, the numerous correspondences I received from friends; some asking for
the latest dirt, others teasing me about the current love of my life. Letters from California, New Mexico, Florida,
Texas, Alabama, Pennsylvania, my friends dotted across the United States and
some stationed overseas. Postcards from Christmas, spring and summer break ;
August of 1982 I am sure when Mark wrote from summer cruise he had no idea 30
years later I would be once again be reading his postcard and saying out loud, “That’s
right he bought a mustang” and laughing
at his predictions for 1st class year! I smiled at the letter from California asking if the latest rumor was true, was I dating a certain Lieutenant in
Norfolk. The answer was neither yes nor
no, I really didn’t know. There were dates asked and confirmed via the mail for
sailboat rides, drinks at friends and beach volleyball games on the shores of
Norfolk. They all made the summer of 1982 one of the most fun I ever had. It
also added to my confusion; San Diego, Annapolis, or Norfolk, where did my
heart really belong.
Many of my personal dilemmas were solved with the help of my friends via pen, paper and the post office. Other problems were compounded by them. Letter dated 20 January 1982, “You can’t seriously consider liking him, his friend is a complete jackass and that means I would have to be nice to him. You know how hard that will be?” One of the most wonderful letters was written to me the early morning of May 25, 1983 and left for me at the Flight’s house, it was from a good friend Ed, “Just wanted to drop off a letter in case I didn’t get to a chance to talk to you again” (after graduation) He gave me advise on the rest of my college years, about a certain man in his company and ended his letter with; “You never know what will happen in life I wanted you to know I have never seen you as an “average” person, I have come to know a pretty extraordinary girl. Never sell yourself short. (Which you tend to do) Please write or call if you are ever frustrated, pissed off. (Or happy as hell.) Don’t sweat it dude. Later D, it’s been fun. Going to miss you. “ Hellertown, PA I had forgotten his hometown but the address he left me, a place where they would always be able to forward his mail, triggered my memory. A simple letter reminding me of all the wonderful friendships I had found at the Academy and lost through time.
Many of my personal dilemmas were solved with the help of my friends via pen, paper and the post office. Other problems were compounded by them. Letter dated 20 January 1982, “You can’t seriously consider liking him, his friend is a complete jackass and that means I would have to be nice to him. You know how hard that will be?” One of the most wonderful letters was written to me the early morning of May 25, 1983 and left for me at the Flight’s house, it was from a good friend Ed, “Just wanted to drop off a letter in case I didn’t get to a chance to talk to you again” (after graduation) He gave me advise on the rest of my college years, about a certain man in his company and ended his letter with; “You never know what will happen in life I wanted you to know I have never seen you as an “average” person, I have come to know a pretty extraordinary girl. Never sell yourself short. (Which you tend to do) Please write or call if you are ever frustrated, pissed off. (Or happy as hell.) Don’t sweat it dude. Later D, it’s been fun. Going to miss you. “ Hellertown, PA I had forgotten his hometown but the address he left me, a place where they would always be able to forward his mail, triggered my memory. A simple letter reminding me of all the wonderful friendships I had found at the Academy and lost through time.
There is such a beautiful creative process to letter
writing. No spellcheck, no backspace
delete, what flows freely from your brain is transcribed on paper with no
alterations or corrections. Back in the
day there were no icons; hearts and silly doodles were hand drawn then sent to
a sweetheart. When I was younger, I kept
a writing pad in my nightstand, before going to bed I would use my knees as a
desk and write to the people who meant the most to me. Then I would anxiously
await their reply. At the time I didn’t realize with the help of my friends, I
was documenting a history of me, my crazy confusing life.
After reading my old letters, recognizing how truly
magnificent they are; it now saddens me the vast majority of correspondence takes
place today via email. Letters that at
one time would be stored in boxes are now kept in virtual folders.
The delete button or a computer crash can erase every thought, every sentence, and
every feeling, forgotten memories. As email takes over, there will be nothing
tangible to hold on to. I am
afraid years from now there will be no new signatures to run my fingers over,
no postmarks or return addresses to document where the correspondence came from
in 2012, no funny hearts and doodles to
make me smile, there will be nothing to actually hold next to my heart that someone
actually held in their hands from this century. Our history will become as
impersonal and as sterile as the computer keyboard I am typing on now.
The latest trend seems to be book clubs. Everybody is
anxious to meet and discuss “Fifty Shades of Grey” or the latest ‘in’ book. As
I sit here with the box of remnants from my past next to me, I wonder, maybe a ‘new’
movement should be started; may I suggest a letter writing club?
