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Handwritten Letters: A Nostalgic Journey Through Time
While rummaging through some boxes, I stumbled across a treasure trove of forgotten items—unused candles, old bathmats, and even a jar containing a $2 bill. I found quirky sno-globes, receipts from my honeymoon, and a lovely box housing a sterling silver mirror, hairbrush, and comb set. There was even a bewildering collection of three tiny plastic puffer fish and a Polaroid camera, still in its original packaging.
Then came the blast from the past: my high school and college boxes. Awards, report cards, trophies, quirky trinkets, concert ticket stubs, and a dried-up corsage. But the real gems were the letters. Boxes overflowing with letters and nary a thing else.
What truly astonished me was the sheer volume of cards! I had birthday cards, Christmas cards, and postcards from my grandmother detailing the latest scoop on the Georgia Bulldawg football season. There were thank-you cards from acquaintances I had only known for a weekend, simple notes from my parents urging me to save money while expressing hopes that “college is everything you’ve dreamed of.” Hallmark cards just saying hi, humorous postcards from my grandmother on her travels, and sweet little messages like, “See you at Thanksgiving,” contrasted with deeper sentiments like, “You’re too smart to let anyone knock you down.”
That morning, I found myself laughing and crying, reminiscing about friends I no longer keep in touch with, reflecting on how challenging it must have been for my parents to send me off into the world, marveling at how long my partner and I have been together, and grieving my grandmother all over again.
While I don’t miss high school or those awkward early college years, I genuinely miss the letters, cards, packages, and photos. I long for that thrill of anticipation when the mailman is late, wondering what delightful correspondence might brighten my day.
Some might argue that email gives us a similar rush, with its immediate responses. While the feelings conveyed can be similar, the tactile experience is unmatched. You can’t replicate the smudged ink, the coffee rings from a careless mug placement, or the hint of dirt from someone writing under a tree. There’s a rhythm to the handwriting that shifts from “Hi, how are you?” to “You’ll never guess what happened” to “I miss you so much I physically ache.” The emotions flow through the swirls and loops of the letters.
There’s so much vitality in handwritten letters. Seeing my grandmother’s handwriting—the smiley faces she would doodle, the smudges that were almost thumbprints—made it feel like she was right there with me, alive and thriving.
People might claim that email offers immediacy, but the real immediacy is found in handwritten notes. There’s life in that ink, emotion in that scrawl. These letters are like a time machine for me.
So, my attempts at decluttering have hit a snag. The letters, cards, and photos are tucked back into their boxes, leaving me to ponder what to do with them. The puffer fish and candlesticks can easily go, but these snippets of everyday joy are staying right here with me.
(Thanks for reaching out today, Lisa. I miss you.)
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Summary
In a nostalgic exploration of handwritten letters and cards from the past, the author reflects on the emotional weight and personal connections that these tangible memories hold, contrasting them with the fleeting nature of digital communication.