Every year, my friend Cynthia sends me a Solstice card–it’s her holiday card. No Christmas or New Year’s greetings. I guess her recent visit inspired her to make a more graphic cartoon drawing for this year’s illustration. I’m so glad about that. I love her drawing style. Her sense of humor really shines through this piece.
We share a wonderful correspondence. Actual letters, I mean, posted with beautiful, collectible stamps on the envelopes. I am in love with people who still write handwritten letters. I know they are rare people in this age of instant digital contacts. I admit I have fallen off the letterwriting wagon. Since Facebook has taken up a lot of my time, and made keeping in touch really easy, my letter-writing has come to a screeching halt.
I am not one who often feels guilt. But in this respect, I am guilty. I have abandoned my pen pals (many of whom I am not digitally connected to). In return, they have let me go. Rarely now do I find that personal note in my P.O. Box. Now I know what it is like to open the mail and find only bills.
Well, postage stamps are made for using. So use them I will! My goal for this coming year is to write, write, write! Not just poetry and blog posts, but letters. Lots of letters. I hope all the addresses I have are still active. I had tried to continue my weekly martini might at the bar when I moved to Montpelier. And at the bar, I would scribble my confessions into my letters while I got drunk. My handwriting would start out neat(ish) and ramble on until it tumbled over itself and scarcely readable loops. That’s when I knew I was done for the night. I love doing it this way.
But the schedule didn’t work for me as it did when I lived in Brattleboro. And I guess I gave up. Last week when I walked to a different bar (one I rarely visit), I realized I just hadn’t tried hard enough to find the right place and time. I found it last week, at a hotel bar down the street, in the afternoon. The bar is long and shiny. The servers are pleasant and beautiful. The atmosphere is quiet. This is not a place to be seen. I can think and read and write here.
So I’ve found it, Cynthia. My new letter-writing place. I wrote you a letter while eating lunch there. And I’ll do it again, and again. Once a week, starting January. Keep me to it.