Not sure if reading old letters is the best activity the night before a major holiday. But, that was the path I chose for the evening. The musty odor. The yellowing pages. The questionable handwriting. I reread the words, scouring over notes, letters, and cards collected years ago. I read courtships developing and love affairs crumbling. I was surprised with whom I kept correspondence so many years ago. I didn't recall exchanging letters with certain people, but the evidence is there I was transported to my younger self: the one who had the whole world ahead of her, who was still emotionally fragile and unsure, and in whom, according to the words on several pages, people wanted to confide.
What I learned from the exercise:
-I miss writing and receiving letters. All I receive in the mail now is bills. Electronic communication is good, but it isn't the same.
-The males in my life have all had really poor handwriting. Reading hieroglyphics would be easier at times.
-There's nothing wrong with holding on to scraps from the past. Work that memory every now and again.
-I hope my children have friends like I've had throughout my life. Or, if nothing else, they finally learn how to write a note.
