I’m still pulling together the scraps of memories and photographs from our week without meat into a coherent blog post, but for now, here’s the next adventure.
Write a letter. On paper. By hand. Then, mail it.
When was the last time I wrote a letter by hand? I really can’t recall. I almost wrote one to one of my cousins this Spring. (He was briefly incarcerated and couldn’t be reached in any other way, or I would never have gone to so much trouble.) Then I chickened out and typed the thing instead.
I don’t even know if my mind remembers how to compose without the backspace key, the copy-paste shortcuts, and the fluency that comes from being able to crank out significantly more than fifty words a minute when I’m on a roll. I still have a tiny bit of the writer’s callous I began building in grade school, but it’s barely noticeable.
I never send letters anymore. Heck, even email’s getting passé, since I’ve begun handling more and more of my correspondence through Facebook and Twitter. The last two times I’ve tried to write and send Christmas letters (something I used to do faithfully every year), I never even got around to printing them. I eventually settled instead for posting them as Facebook notes.
This week, though, I’m going to write one — a good, old-fashioned letter.
Three, in fact. I’ve set myself a goal of writing and sending one friendly, chatty, “just-because” letter each to my grandmother, my husband’s maternal grandmother, and my husband’s paternal grandmother and grandfather. These dear old folks are precious to me, and I think they might appreciate something tangible from me in the mail.
Ken and kids will also each be writing and sending at least one letter this week.
Letter-writing by hand. We’ll see how it goes. All I know now is that I’m woefully out of shape and already dreading the hand cramps.
Curious to see how we did? Check out the recap of this week’s adventure.