August 11, 2013 by

Mail

3 comments

Categories: General, Tags: , ,

One of my favorite things (and I have a lot of favorite things) is to go to other people’s houses and see mail I’ve sent them. This is very self-involved of me but I just love it. I LOVE it. Many of my closest friends do this, possibly without even knowing how happy it makes me. Kris has framed some and hung them up. Christine has a pin-up board with cards on it. Nuala had at least one on her fridge. I’ve recently discovered that Paul Ryan puts cards I send him on his fridge and on a cork-board.

I've also recently learned how to make photo collages on my phone which is my newest favoritest thing.

I’ve also recently learned how to make photo collages on my phone which is my newest favoritest thing.

The thing that makes me so happy about seeing my mail again is that it proves people like getting mail. Sending mail for me is a private, solitary affair. I buy cards or stationary, I sit in my house and write all sorts of little random things and think about the person I’m sending it too. But I don’t get to see their faces when they receive the mail, or hear what they say as they read it. Seeing it on the fridge and getting to read what I wrote again (which I, admittedly, generally forget as soon as I’ve written it) is delightful. So delightful in fact that I waited until Paul left the room and then took photos of my mail while squeeing a little bit in glee.

3 Responses to Mail

  1. didofoot

    I forgot to tell you how much I enjoyed the cards you sent from Ft Dragg. As we were driving away from the Dragg I was thinking “I wonder how soon my card will arrive?” Mine is up on our hall mirror now along with another one from you and one from Nuala. =)

  2. nuala

    I’ll have you know that all the cards go up on the fridge at some point. And when they get cycled out they are put in a box. I have a giagantic box of cards from you and Kristen. I can’t throw them away. I need to do something with that.

    I think I even have notes from high school somewhere at mom’s house. Apparently I’m a horder.

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