Saturday Mail

"NO SATURDAY LETTERS? SIGN ME, HEARTBROKEN." Ah, a person after my own heart! This was the headline in our local newspaper the day that the Postal Service let the nation know there would soon be no delivery on Saturday. Now, I am all for saving money, and know that the Postal Service has been losing money ever since the "tech" invasion, but that is not my lament. The bigger worry for me is that "letter writing" is dying, if not already dead, as well as card sending and any other kind of personal snail mail. I agree that most of what we get in our mail box is either bills or junk advertising, so I really am not too unhinged by the demise of Saturday mail. But, don't you just love, every now in then, going to your mail box and finding a real letter or card from someone who took the time to think about you, and write to you! For me, it is always the jewel in the crown, or the prize in the box of crackerjacks.  In a previous BLOG, I wrote about the significant loss of letter writing (see letters), and what, in the future, our children and grandchildren will not know about how we felt about things; what we thought about things etc. or ever be able to save that special card or letter from Dad, Mom or Grandma. This loss is made more potent to me as I read the historical David McCullough books that give us such a genuine and real picture of the person he is writing about. We are able to peer into the person's real psych and personality by reading so many of the letters that are included in these books. I am presently reading "Truman" and were it not for the many letters that President Truman sent to his wife Bess, his mother and his sister...we would not know this profound and complicated man, nor would we know him as a real person who, thru his letters, lets us know how he is feeling about the major and significant years and events of his presidency. I know that letter writing cannot be brought back in this fast, tech society, and I am only lamenting what will be lost. Each week, I still try to write several letters, and perhaps send a card to someone I am thinking about.....not a big thing, but perhaps something that can brighten someone's day to know that someone was thinking about them.

LETTERS, A LOST HISTORY

One of the yearly traditions at my private girls' school was to write a letter to my parents each year at Christmas time, thanking them for all the things I appreciated about them. The devoted Sisters of Notre Dame de Mure would have us practice writing these letters in our best cursive handwriting until they were satisfied that the letter looked beautiful, neat and readable. Only then were we allowed to pen the final copy in ink. These were treasures (from five daughters) my mom and dad savored for years, and I found many of them after Mother and Dad were gone.
Ah, the joy of receiving a real letter these days; going to the mailbox and taking out an actual
 hand-written note from a sister, brother or a friend. 
One historic correspondences of the past were the letters sent between Thomas Jefferson and John Adams who wrote to each other over the years often disagreeing with each other bitterly, but who, through these letter, became fast friends by the end of their lives, both dying on the same day. It was these letters that made them friends. If you read these letters, you will see the historical significance contained in these communications where we are able to see into the minds of these famous men who created and shaped the nation. They depict the human side of history, expressing how these men thought and felt. Letters of the past are one of the major research tools used by schorlars to know famous people of the past, and we have much to learn by reading what they thought and felt.
But today...who writes letter today? When I was in Africa for two years with the Peace Corps, I wrote many letters home, not only to my Mom, Dad and Grandfather, but also to my brothers and sisters. Today, I have all those letters because my Dad, in his wisdom, had them typed and bound. They are a complete history of my time in Africa, and what a joy they are for me to read today. But, best of all, I also kept the palethra of letters sent to me by all of them, which is a two year history of their lives, and often the craziness of growing up in a large Irish Catholic family in Cincinnati, Ohio. I am now in the process of typing these letters and sending them, one per day, to my siblings and we are all laughing out loud remembering some of the histarical moments as they
transversed through high school, college, marriage, leaving home and having babies. I am including a part of one of these letters from my Dad so that you can see how much fun we are all having.
Letter from Dad: June 18, 1965
"Of course, the big event is John's wedding to Carol. Maureen (sister) arrived Thursday a.m. and I met her with Chrissy (sister). The airlines dropped her bag off in Cleveland. It arrived next day. Meantime, Maureen had to buy new dresses to wear. Again, on Thursday, Ginny (sister) had collision with Tom's (brother) car. Ginny not seriously hurt. Car demolished. Can sell for junk only. Like "our" fire,*we are grateful that Ginny wasn't hurt. No insurance on Tom's car. I arrived home about 5:30 p.m. and heard fire sirens approaching. Someone had started incinerator (my grandfather) and it had malfunctioned. It smoldered instead of burning. The whole house was smoke-filled. The same fireman arrived with the same array of equiptment. The Fire Captain admired our house decorations and then spent two hours cleaning the incinerator. The same insurance adjuster was on the phone next morning. We had house mist sprayed before company came. This all happened the night of rehersal dinner.  (Dad was referring to a recent incident that had brought the firemen to our house shortly before this time.)
How will people know of us in the future? How will our grandchildren and their children understand "our days?"More importantly, how will they know what we thought and what we felt ? They won't unless we tell them.