Snail Mail.

I have a paper problem.  Well, it’s not so much a paper problem as a paper affinity.  I love a pretty paper, a pretty card, gorgeous handwriting, and snail mail.

Oh, don’t pretend that it’s NBD*.  When you get an actual something other than a bill because we’re grown ups and that’s all we’re allowed to get apparently, it makes you feel happy.  Multiply that by about ten bajillion if it’s not Christmas, or your birthday, carry the one, square it, and THAT right there is a card that comes just to tell you that you are incredible and you mean the world to someone.  Even when they forget to tell you often, even when you both get busy, or when you never realized that they saw that thing that you did or how hard you’ve worked, even if YOU know you’re awesome, but someone else not only says it, but takes the time to write it down, and it makes it so much true-r somehow.

That feeling, THAT was my mission.

Dave’s Oma, she used to send me notes in the mail.  At least once a month.  There were thank you notes, birthday cards, anniversary cards, and just because cards.  Dave and I would come in from collecting the mail, see an envelope with her handwriting, laugh, then guess what these envelopes might contain.  She’d cut out a thirty cent coupon and spend more on the stamp to send it.  I’d get a recipe, carefully cut out with a note saying that she read something in Martha Stewart that she thought I’d like.  Dave would get a twenty-five dollar check and a note of admonishment that she realized that he had tucked the twenty dollar bill that she had tried to pay him for picking up a gallon of milk, back into her things instead of taking it home.  She’d send Finn stickers in the mail, always made out to Master Finnegan J, because she was straight old school and addressed things properly.

You do not half-ass snail mail if you are Kelly.  Even if it’s a twenty-five cent coupon or ten Box Tops for your great grand-son to take to school.  You do it right.

In that spirit, because I miss her fiercely, I wanted to give that to someone else.  It’s been a year today and it’s not much easier.  I spent the better part of two days, writing until my hand cramped, tracking down addresses and knowing that if she were still here,  she would have surely gotten one herself.  Loads of these cards belonged to her and came to me in stacks as we were cleaning out her things and she would have loved knowing that they aren’t sitting in a drawer, gathering dust.

Which brings me to you.  If you could use a little love right now, send your address in an email and I’ll send one off to you, too. 

I’d imagine, she’d love knowing she’s single handedly keeping the United States Post Office in business.

Happy Weekend, Peeps.