Monday, September 10, 2012

Losing Letters

I recently joined a Facebook group called Save the U. S. Postal Service by Writing More Letters. It may seem a quaint notion to some, who've already ceded the technological takeover without protest, but I find it dismaying. While I enjoy the wizardry of instantaneous communication, nothing can replace handwritten missives that date back decades, tied with ribbon and stored for posterity. I have virtually every letter anyone ever wrote to me: my parents', best friends from high school, fellow artists, and of course, lovers. Remember the pen pal? I had scads of them.

Generations of readers have pored over the collections of letters of our most renowned authors, painters, composers, military heroes and film stars. What record will live on in the absence of thoughtful reflections rendered in ink and sealed with a kiss? When was the last time, if ever, you printed out an email? That's what passes for a rough equivalent. Many people can't type a decent electronic message; lots of books cover the business of tapping out one's thoughts and clicking send. If we need help crafting an effective email, then God knows the touch screen generation needs lessons in the snail variety.

Emails get deleted, while letters are time capsules. I get a kick out of looking at the worn envelopes from years past, with six cent stamps and goofy graffiti in vibrant colors etched on the back. I can read the letters I sent home from college that my mother saved, a window into being eighteen again. How juvenile I sounded when I thought I knew everything. Then there are the dispatches from my life in New York City, in my early twenties, drinking in all the glory and grit of Manhattan. I've even kept ancient correspondence from elementary school days, including notes passed between desks in sixth grade.

Yes, it's true, the boxes take up a fair amount of space in my closet and I rarely revisit them. But I'd like to think one day after I'm gone, one of my sons or grandchildren may discover clues about me at different life stages, the times I lived in, the people I loved. Besides, admit it, it's a big deal when you open your mailbox and find a handwritten note. In cursive. The real thing.