Love Letter

I wrote a love letter this morning. 

Given that today is Valentine's Day, acknowledging someone I love is not an odd activity.  But, perhaps, writing a two page letter is. 

Writing letters, for most, is a dead art. 

When I wrote my first love letter to this man, apart from a telephone call, there was no other way to stay in touch.  Communication was face-to-face, telephone calls, or letters.  How things have changed -- emails, Facebook, text messages, Skype, or Gchat are quick, efficient ways of talking to someone. Daily, I use several of these methods myself.

But, there is something special about receiving a piece of hand addressed, personal mail. My grandfather, Daniel O'Connor, was a postal worker as were two of his older brothers.  As sons of Irish immigrants, I imagine that a dependable government job was very appealing.  I know that the post office provided him steady work throughout the Great Depression.  I know he was proud of his career.

The USPS just announced that Saturday mail delivery will cease in August. Since 2010, there has been a 20% decline in 1st class mail. I am among 7 of 10 Americans who favor the change in delivery schedule as a way to deal with the USPS debt situation. And despite the recent postage stamp increase, I will continue to do my part to keep the system working. 

I mailed over 100 Christmas cards last December and sixteen Valentine cards last week. I sent a belated birthday card yesterday to my oldest friend - of more than 35 years.  I mailed a package to my son at college - there wasn't one necessity in it.  I exchange letters with my mother's two remaining cousins; they provide my last connection to my mother as a girl.

Beginning with a Mother -To-Be Mother's Day card (mailed in May of 1956) from my Aunt Margie to my mother, a card from my father when I was at college, notes that acknowledge joys and sorrows, through a Valentine's Day card I received yesterday, I have more than half-a-century of cards, notes, and letters that chronicle my life.

I understand the power of the written word.  I cherish the feel of a decades old card.  I smile when I see my name written on an envelope mixed in between junk mail, flyers, and bills in the mailbox. I will continue to write letters that document both the ordinary and the extraordinary events of life.