Today I resolve to write more letters.
At least once a week, be it a store-bought card or a lipstick-written note on a cocktail napkin, or a 3-page handwritten diatribe, I need to let people know what they mean to me, personally.
A friend used to send me long letters when we parted ways from high school. Every square inch of paper used... what wasn't body text was margins filled in with drawings, collage, and a lot of unintelligible but wonderful gibberish. Now that we've lost touch, I've begun trying to track down the author of these treasures. Maybe someday I'll find her and pass these letters to her grandkids.
My dad has the really sweet habit of sending cards. I used to get them more frequently when I was in college. For four years, I basically lived and breathed AAC and didn't have any social life at all. New to the City, I didn't really even have any friends here. It's not that my dad has ever been overly effusive emotionally (though he can step up to the plate quite nicely when appropriate). Just... a card... just a few words written on it... in the mailbox for me when I got home sometimes. They probably don't look like much to other people; he usually only writes a couple words in them. It's a sweet habit I'll always cherish. I still get them today.
Mass email and blogging is a sad substitute.
Send me your address.