As a child, I remember Mailman Ed. He always had a smile and a cheerful hello to all the kids in the neighborhood. He knew everyone on his route and often stopped to chat with the adults who greeted him during his deliveries. Mailman Ed seemed to really enjoy his job. Why not? He brought letters to people every day, except Sunday of course.
Letters. It may seem hard to believe by some, but there was a time when people almost always received at least one letter in their mailbox every day. I miss those times. The excitement of opening the mailbox and looking for that decorated envelope with blue birds- you knew that was Grandma's stationary. An envelope with calligraphy writing meant a note from your favorite aunt who loved to tape a quarter to the letter that read, 'buy yourself a candy bar and think of me'. Postcards from cousins and classmates on vacation.
I never remember reading a letter just once, either. The first reading was a quick read filled with excitement to discover what the sender wanted to say. Then, you would notice the little things that made the letter special. The time written at the top right hand corner gave a feeling of warmth. Knowing the person was thinking of you at that time; and you wondered- 'what was I doing at that time and day?' Their handwriting in print or cursive, the special PS 'squeezed in' at the bottom of the letter, or X's and O's written in such a way to create a frame around the paper.
There is a generation that will not have a memory box filled with special, hand-written letters. They will never experience the emotions of re-reading a letter sent from their first love, a parent expressing their words of wisdom to their child far from home, or rubbing their fingers over a dear-departed loved one's handwriting & noticing the similarities in their penmanship. The smell of the paper, the knowing someone's hands touched where their hands now touch, and just feeling a little closer to someone who is now so far away.
I miss letters in the mailbox.
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