Sorting quickly through my stack of mail, among generic-looking bills, color flyers, and slick magazines, I stop at a plain white envelope – addressed in blue ink, in neat, medium-sized, left-leaning hand-printing – and open it first: a sweet Thank You note from my 15-year-old niece.
Do you remember the last personal letter you received or sent?
Americans exchange loads of text messages, emails, and a whopping 7 billion greeting cards every year. Despite this, the number of us who hand write messages is diminishing.
And none will hear the postman’s knock
Without a quickening of the heart.
For who can bear to feel himself forgotten?
~W.H. Auden
And yet when we announce meaningful events in our lives or share our deepest thoughts, most of us don’t opt for practicality – read computer printed text. Adding our personal touch is worth the extra time and effort (How did I used to write those fancy capital letters in cursive, anyway?) because we instinctively know that in communications hand-written with care, we give more of ourselves. Hand-written correspondence is not only more human, but has greater power to convey its message. Children sense this at an early age. They often make cards, especially Valentines, or small gifts as a way of showing their affection. These precious mementos find lasting homes in our family albums.
Allison Joseph captures the beauty of a handwritten message in her poem, Elegy for the Personal Letter:*
I miss the rumpled corners of correspondence,
the ink blots and crossouts that show
someone lives on the other end, a person
whose hands make errors, leave traces.
I miss fine stationary, its raised elegant
lettering prominent on creamy shades of ivory
or pearl grey. I even miss hasty notes
dashed off on notebook paper, edges
ragged as their scribbled messages—
can’t much write now—thinking of you.
When letters come now, they are formatted
by some distant computer, addressed
to Occupant or To the family living at—
meager greetings at best,
salutations made by committee.
Among the glossy catalogs
and one time only offers
the bills and invoices,
letters arrive so rarely now that I drop
all other mail to the floor when
an envelope arrives and the handwriting
is actual handwriting, the return address
somewhere I can locate on any map.
So seldom is it that letters come
That I stop everything else
to identify the scrawl that has come this far—
the twist and the whirl of the letters,
the loops of the numerals. I open
those envelopes first, forgetting
the claim of any other mail,
hoping for news I could not read
in any other way but this.
* From My Father’s Kites. © Steel Toe Books, 2010. Reprinted with permission.
Video above right ~ Comedian Kevin James, parodying a woman searching for the “perfect” greeting card.
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