I have a binder full, maybe two binders full, of letters written on yellow legal pad paper to me from my friend, Therese. One day soon, I will read the letters again, slowly, and then pack them up and send them to her.
Wanting to recapture the letter-writing days of our youth, Therese sent another letter two or three years ago. A gift! I sat on my couch, enjoying every word — Therese’s handwriting hadn’t changed. I hadn’t known, of course, because we’d been emailing by then for about 10 years or so — and I hadn’t saved the emails. The emails, in any case, hadn’t been full of details about Therese’s husband, children, jobs.
In her letters, Therese and her family dance, sing, get serious, cry, camp, ski, be, unfold to me. This week, I plan to sit down with a pen and several pieces of yellow legal pad paper and write a letter to my friend, Therese.
Maybe she’ll write one back to me.