Pen pals

Do you remember how excited you were to get actual mail?  I do.  The mailbox on our porch made a squeaky noise and I would race out on the porch to check the mail.  Most of the time it was for my parents, and in retrospect, most of the time they were probably not thrilled with the mail, but once a month or so, I would receive a letter from my penpal.

I signed up for a penpal via a  magazine I got in church ( this is an important detail, please tuck it under your hat for now)  I was given the name of a girl named Sue ( I will not put her last name here)  She lived in a small town in Michigan.  For years- probably five or six at least- we exchanged letters, newsy and  not so newsy letters about our daily lives.  I can't remember much of them and I no longer have her letters.  Here is why.  I had NO idea that my longtime penpal had family in California and when she said she was coming to visit I gave her my phone number so we could FINALLY meet in person.  My mom was down with the plan and I thought she was too.  Then, she called me from her family's home.  In Beverly Hills.  She was calling to say we could not meet, that there just wasn't time, or some lame excuse, but I was pretty good at reading through the lines. Her rich family was aghast at anyone from Pacoima meeting with them.  Didn't matter that I was a good Christian girl, just that I lived in the wrong part of town for their darling to meet with.  We exchanged letters, less frequently, the last one telling me she was getting married.  She was eighteen and on the verge of being an old maid  I suppose.  She was about two years older than me.   I hope wherever she is she is happy and maybe she wonders what happened to me. Probably not.  That single incident revealed her to me.  Her letter when she returned to her small town from the glitz of the family estate, showed no regret at not meeting. Our warm friendship was over.

Which brings me to why this all came up.  My friend Cindy Alexander, who is an AMAZING singer-songwriter and if you aren't a fan YOU SHOULD BE , is taking about writing letters.  I hope she does.  In this fast paced world, it might be nice to put pen to paper, practice my penmanship , which has totally disintegrated , not that it was wonderful to begin with; I actually failed handwriting in Mrs. Gnotta's second grade class. My mom in an uncharacteristic show of support for this failed scholastic endeavor, showed me HER handwriting, which was almost illegible.  Me ex's mother once asked me, in a snotty tone, why my mother always typed  her letters.  I went into my house and handed her a sample of the letters I used to get.  I was now a skilled translator of my mother's handwriting. She understood.  I remember my mom leaving me a note on the door and because I could not read it, I sat on the back steps crying until one of the neighbors came and got me. The note told me she was next door.

Still I am hopeful to put my letter writing skills to the test.  Writing is really the only art form, I practice ( Chris will tell you it's cooking, but that skill  is survival, even if I enjoy the process most of the time)  I am looking forward to that giddy feeling of getting a letter that is not a bill or a pleas for charity. Just an old fashioned "HEY, You've got mail!