The Power of Correspondence

Onto our community’s Freecycle email list went a set of dishes from our long-since-sold second home at Tahoe, a small propane-fueled space heater that Thing 2 and her teammates used during cold nights on the lacrosse fields, and some bolts of upholstery fabric.

To no one’s surprise, I used to be a prolific letter writer. While I don’t write letters very often anymore, I do still write short notes and have a stationery fetish. I also buy greeting cards for future use. My favorite paper shop is Lionheart Prints in New Orleans. In our garage I came across a box of letters I’d received from other people: Dave, when we went to college 1,800 miles apart; Wendy, whom I’ve been friends with since third grade; Courtenay and Kelly, my high school besties; and my cousin Sara, with whom I got into trouble on Passover every year.

The people I collaborate with often share letters with me as background material. These fragile treasures are penned in beautiful, loopy script and are incredibly thoughtful. They are a treat to read and provide valuable insight into the tenor of someone’s life. In some cases we photograph them and include them in printed books. They can also be restored, thanks to technology and archival methods.

Holding those letters again reminded me that correspondence is more than ink on paper. It’s a snapshot of a moment—someone’s voice, their worries, their jokes, their handwriting reaching across the page exactly as they felt that day. Emails and texts are efficient, but they rarely carry that same sense of presence. I lingered over a few pages, smiling at stories I had long forgotten. Then I put the letters back. Maybe some will go into my own memoir.