AT THIS POINT IN TIME, we are told to upload our lives, especially our stories, and pay a monthly fee for them to be remembered. Skip a month and our memories are foreclosed on.
Yes of course, we can back everything up infinitely. But somehow, I can’t see someone a year, or thirty years hence, blowing the dust off a hard drive and declaring, “Oh my heavens, it’s your grandfather’s correspondence.”
Paper letters last. But we’re so busy. Not in the pub we’re not; in the time it takes to empty a good drink, (or two), we can fill a page, fold it, seal a stamped envelope. On the way home, into the mail box–clunk!–and with luck, that letter will find an address and maybe a home, to be read again, when needed most–or when long forgotten, and through it, we will be heard again.
Stop by Doobies any Tuesday in July at 7pm. Bring some addresses, your thoughts, a favorite pen. We’ll supply the paper, the envelopes, the postage. Order a drink and write till you finish.