please mister postman!

Since moving home after graduation, one of the downsides to not having my own place has been a serious lack of mail addressed to me. I don't mean bills-- those can stay far away, but I have to say I do miss silly local election flyers, coupons for a "free panty" (why can't they say underwear?) at Victoria's Secret, Trader Joe's latest newsletter with seasonal recipes, and three mailings per day from Bed, Bath, & Beyond.
Nowadays, I get my Netflix a few times a month (if I'm good with returning my already-watched movies) and bank statements. Thrilling.

But today was different.
Today, after a productive morning of car-washing, bike riding that resulted in a flat tire but was fun while it lasted, and a trip to our local library's epic book sale, I checked the mailbox and found...

Us Weekly, a mysterious apparition in our mailbox lately, since not one of my family members has subscribed
(and, okay, it's addressed to my sister but still, I get to read it)...


...and a letter! A real, live, pen(cil) on paper letter, from my dear friend Taylor,
whom I met at a summer camp we both worked at in July.

I've long wanted to get back into writing real letters. During my junior year of high school, I went over to England with my family and decided to take a tour of Oxford, just for kicks of course. As a prospective "international" student, I was placed in a tour group with other foreigners, and struck up a conversation with the blond, blue-eyed boy next to me. Geoff was a cross-country runner from Ann Arbor, Michigan, and our witty banter had the tour guide convinced that we'd been friends for a long time. After the tour had ended and we had decided our SAT scores would most likely never allow us to even be considered for acceptance, Geoff and I exchanged email addresses and, all told, hung out in London for a day, which ended with a very sweet Cadbury's chocolate-flavored goodbye kiss.
Geoff and I exchanged letters for a few months afterwards, very infrequently, but it was charming nonetheless. There's nothing like a page or two of personal handwritten prose to make you feel special. Written correspondance truly is a lost art (says she, typing a blog, of all things).

The ironic part? Both Taylor and Geoff are from Michigan. So, moral of the story... if you want a handwritten letter, make friends with Michiganders. And yes, they're really called that.