You've Got Mail... Probably an email...

How often in this day and age do we get a handwritten letter? Not very often! It seems that computers and emails have taken away that cursive, handwritten treat in the "old fashioned" mailbox that stands near the fence in the front yard.

I remember when I was little, around the age of of 11 I had a pen pal. Marianne did not start out as a pen pal. In fact she started off as the woman who lived across the street from my grandma on Yucca street. She was a delightful woman. Marianne was married to a truck driver named Steve. Although I remember hearing about Steve I only remember meeting him once, as his job had him on the go all the time. Steve probably never knew the kindness and joy that Marianne brought into my life and the lives of my two cousins Donovan, and Dawnelle. But she was really special, and as I type this I am taken back to my youth, when I met Marianne, and her zest for life kept me going for more. She was funky, and cool, sweet, and generous, and really smart.

Steve had two sons from a previous marriage. The boys used to come visit in the summer season. When they went back home to California where they lived with their mother, my cousins and I would take their place, and visit Marianne. I am sure that there was more then one afternoon when Marianne probably didn't care for the company of three kids, who were full of questions and energy. Though this may have been true, she always answered our knocks at her door and welcomed us in. She let us ride her horse in the front yard, let us join her for walks with her dog, took us to the library and introduced us to a variety of books. She occasionally took us to Church and took us to the laundromat with her, offered us snacks, and treats while we sat in her living room. There were days when she piled us in her car and took us to the school swimming pool, and she listened to us, and was our friend. She was simply wonderful.

Marianne was from California. One day she let us kiddos in on some sad news. Marianne was moving.... back to California. We were so sad. One day when I was down in the dumps, Marianne let me in on a secret plan. She said "Brianna, don't be sad. Give me your home address, and I will write you letters to keep in touch. Then you can write me back, and we can be pen pals!" Still sad that she was leaving, I was excited to have a pen pal across the miles. We exchanged quite a few letters, and I enjoyed receiving her pretty stationary in the mail, with her neat cursive that told me what she was up to. I am not sure exactly why or how the letters came to a stop,but it may have been due to the fact that I grew up into a silly teenager. Whatever I thought was important then, was probably not as good as getting Marianne's lovely letters. Somehow we lost touch.

My point is at the end of this long, drawn out story is that I loved getting Marianne's letters in the "old fashioned" mailbox. Well, okay so I didn't really have a mailbox in my front yard, but I did get excited when my mom and I drove to the post-office, because I knew that there might be a letter for me in that little box among many boxes, and it was just for me. Just for me, from a wonderful person, who took the time to write a little girl in a small town a letter, that would get read over, and over again. A letter that would be shared with her cousins, and her grandma.

So though emails are great, fast, and to the point.... a letter in the mail, with neat, sloppy, curly, or beautiful penmanship is still better. I wish that I knew where Marianne was, so I could write her a letter.... I'd have so much to say, to fill up her "old fashioned" mailbox.