The Letter's in the Mail, Aunt Barb

Thanks for stirring up ideas, Write on Edge! While I should be dwelling on my first experience with technology, something different happened instead…

Paper and pen. Tools I still love dearly, sadly relegated to my bedside table for journaling before bed. Saved for a rainy day, coffee in hand, greeting cards chosen for friends or family. Protected relics, now used to capture snapshots of thought, expressions of emotion caught before sleep, or fond messages to others. Sigh.

Reality bites. Days are now brimming with furiously tapped emails, short quips, sometimes with no personal salutation or closing. Here’s an exchange from work:

“Please review and respond.”

“-Will do”

“-Thanks-Pls see paragraph two and tell me what you think.” Like it’s difficult for me to actually spell out the word please. You can tell the writer and I really value each other’s workplace contributions, no?

Salutation or closing? At my elementary school, fourth graders were formally introduced to them in a Social Studies unit on the “Post office”. Each row of kids decided on a name for their “street” and mail could be sent throughout the school. It was all glee when I as a kindergartner received a letter from my fourth grade whiz-kid brother. Hearing my name called aloud was an announcement of something special, to be envious of.

It was the same in college. Near holidays, finals, or for no reason at all, I’d find a small rectangle note in my mailbox, indicating “you have a package, please see the front desk”. It felt a little like winning the lottery. Not quite as good, but pretty darn close. I wouldn’t open the package right away. I’d savor the potential, finding silly delight in playing a waiting game, forcing myself to do my worst bit of homework. Then later, tucked inside the small box were thoughtful, detailed messages scripted in slanted cursive from my Aunt Barb on quirky cards (The Far Side was a big favorite). Under the card sat chocolate-y treats, bright-colored pen sets, pretty bookmarks. Pure delight.

In 1994, I found myself in a similar situation as kindergarten- the recipient of good news from my older brother. The advent of email.

“Watch this.” He pointed to a blinking green line on the black screen. He pressed his fingers to the keyboard rhythmically- something I failed to master until much later (our parents bought their first computer after I started college). Hitting “ENTER”, he magically conjured up a list of names. A familiar one caught my eye.

“There’s a message from Aunt Jan! This is SO COOL!” It was neato, rad- whatever we said back then. A message in the computer, sent instantly? The possibilities seemed endless. We drafted a response to Aunt Jan, and hit “Send”. It was like magic. The excitement lasted about a second.

On one hand, technology is addictive and flashy, but like any chocolate dessert, the taste is gone too soon. There’s not much for savoring, and there’s very little waiting- I want my messages NOW- even the slightest delay will spur me to quick dial our office IT person.

It’s cozy to think of those special packages. And really, who doesn’t love reaching into their mailbox to find something unexpected, thoughtful, personal? Someone actually had to go out and pick something out just for you. It’s just darn nice. I think I’ll start doing that again. And maybe try a little harder to remember birthdays. Because nothing says “I care” like my post on your Facebook wall… a day late… with a heartfelt “hope you had a great day!”.  I should be embarrassed.

The letter’s in the mail, Aunt Barb.