By JoEllen Collins
Something is still special about receiving a handwritten note. I accept this century’s amazing ways of communication, but I am appreciating anew the joys of the written word, to keep and to cherish.
Handwriting, of course, takes time and effort in our fast-paced world, but I miss it. At my granddaughter’s birthday party yesterday, I tried to write little special notes for the guests about the joy I experienced because they are her friends. After 25 minutes and the completion of just two out of 30 messages, I gave up. I could not finish them before everyone was gone. Later, I examined my efforts and was upset at my less-than-perfect penmanship, even printed carefully. However, if I ever try this again, I know the result will be much more satisfying than sending an email to each of their parents.
Of course I am grateful for the ease of texting, email, and other mobile forms of contact, and I totally understand the reality of the disappearance of older devices like land-line telephones. Many images in the science fiction of decades ago have been realized, and anyone living today probably has an open mind about the future possibilities of technology.
On the other hand, while shopping in my temporary new neighborhood, I asked a clerk if she could suggest a place that carried envelopes. She asked me what I meant. I said something like, “You know, the folded paper you send letters in.” She still didn’t understand, so I took out a pen and pretended to scribble something, fold a piece of paper, and put it in an imagined envelope. She was a sweet young woman, and called a friend and told him what I wanted. Then she turned to me and said he didn’t know any place that sells “stuff like that.” I thanked her and, shortly after, discovered a stationery store two blocks away. I realize this isn’t typical, but it nonetheless signaled a generation that probably doesn’t use “slow mail.”
Of course, most schools have abandoned teaching cursive writing, and even some highly intelligent students taking A.P. exams, which I have often proctored, have trouble writing out the pledge to honor the rules of the test, an activity that takes longer than all the other filling in of spaces in the pretest forms.
Last week my cousin presented me with copies of letters my mother had written to her cousin in Sweden in the forties. Reading them, I can almost hear my mother’s voice and appreciate her lovely way of expressing herself.
I am trying to simplify and declutter my life, but I find it extremely hard to throw away old love letters and family mementoes and cards. Something about the tangible feel and smell of old paper and ink, the careful penmanship, and careful crafting of personal attitudes and sentiment move me in ways I can’t imagine hunting down old emails would provide.