a true feast once tumbled through my letterbox: 39 handwritten pages, from an edmonton boy named rick hulbert. he was a chance encounter on a trans-canada train, and i treasured him, long distance, until he - or i - dropped out of sight.
real mailboxes - the slide-something-through-the-slot kind, or the kind that wave red
flags if they're into picturesque - have fallen into disuse where i live.....at least until
last week.
first, the yearly "kith and kin" cd, perfectly compiled by trevor and barbara, arrived,
to my great surprise, and delight. (it hasn't left my cd-player since, and it had me out buying k.d. lang's "hymns from the 49th parallel" within hours.)
just a few days later, a real - and equally unexpected - christmas card, from jay,
arrived, and made me smile again.
there's something very special about tearing open a well-travelled envelope, about
seeing someone's unique handwriting, and appreciating someone's personal
just-for-you effort.
this time, at least, i managed to slip the return-addresses into a safe place before my
tidy daughter could do her usual conjuring trick, so i can thank them, and hopefully reciprocate.
with pleasure.
and postage.