My daughter received a letter from a friend in Seattle the other day. I knew she would be excited about this letter. Her friend is a wonderful child and separating them when we moved from Seattle was a difficult thing for me to swallow. But this is not why I am writing about this letter.
When I looked at the address that my daughter's friend wrote on the envelope I was shocked that it reached our house on the other side of the country. Several things were wrong with the letter's address.
First the letter had no zip code.
Second the name of the town was misspelled.
Third the name of our street was also misspelled.
Despite all these omissions and misspellings the letter reached our house in a timely fashion. Two little girls who were trying to connect to each other were not schooled by the post office simply because one forgot some trivial numbers.
I love post offices. I love my mail carrier. End of story. I remember going into the post office as a child to get our mail. We had a post box as the town I lived in had no delivery. Our post box combo was "A Hairy Foot." The post mistress in the post office in Alloway, N.J. was an woman much older than my mother who said hello to me every time I walked through the door. She knew the names and code numbers for towns. She could eyeball a package and tell you how much to send it. She kept secrets and whispers safe until they reached the ears of the intended. I forget her name by her face is scratched into my mind. Thank you.
They are closing post offices in small towns. This seems like closing down our collective heart. Blocking arteries and veins to spite our limbs to save our brain. But without our feet, how can our brain dance?
The Snail Mail Event! is a wonderful way to fight back this nonsense. Mail a letter. Send a package. Send a love song to your friend in a far off place. Send a small drawing to the people that live in your house.
I love receiving letters. Even more I love that a series of post workers did not delay the conversation between two girls who miss each other very much.
Thank you.
When I looked at the address that my daughter's friend wrote on the envelope I was shocked that it reached our house on the other side of the country. Several things were wrong with the letter's address.
First the letter had no zip code.
Second the name of the town was misspelled.
Third the name of our street was also misspelled.
Despite all these omissions and misspellings the letter reached our house in a timely fashion. Two little girls who were trying to connect to each other were not schooled by the post office simply because one forgot some trivial numbers.
I love post offices. I love my mail carrier. End of story. I remember going into the post office as a child to get our mail. We had a post box as the town I lived in had no delivery. Our post box combo was "A Hairy Foot." The post mistress in the post office in Alloway, N.J. was an woman much older than my mother who said hello to me every time I walked through the door. She knew the names and code numbers for towns. She could eyeball a package and tell you how much to send it. She kept secrets and whispers safe until they reached the ears of the intended. I forget her name by her face is scratched into my mind. Thank you.
They are closing post offices in small towns. This seems like closing down our collective heart. Blocking arteries and veins to spite our limbs to save our brain. But without our feet, how can our brain dance?
The Snail Mail Event! is a wonderful way to fight back this nonsense. Mail a letter. Send a package. Send a love song to your friend in a far off place. Send a small drawing to the people that live in your house.
I love receiving letters. Even more I love that a series of post workers did not delay the conversation between two girls who miss each other very much.
Thank you.
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