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.
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.