Books | Lisa Fortin - 07:23pm Jul 21, 1999 PDT (# 7 of 19)

Since July 9, I have been writing (by hand, on paper) almost every day to a
friend with whom I normally communicate daily online. We live in separate
cities anyway, but right now obligations have him much further away -- the
middle of nowhere halfway across the country -- and computer-less for four
weeks. Since he feared ICQ withdrawal, not to mention boredom, isolation,
and lack of reading material, I thought it might be fun to bombard him with
snail mail. I got my first reply on Monday, and my second yesterday.
(Canada Post is far slower than the U.S. Postal Service.) I am eagerly
awaiting a third on my return home this evening. Whenever I do engage in
paper correspondence (not often enough), I'm always amazed again at just
how pleasurable it is, with the waiting and anticipation of checking the
mailbox and opening the envelope, as well the physicality of it: choosing
different papers and pens and envelopes for my letters, running my fingers
along the back of the page of my correspondent's to feel the indentations
of his pen marks... It is a sweet, lovely thing.

Continue Reading...