I was musing on how many emails i’ve written in the last 10 years. While I’ve had many memorable ones from some great friends, and I’ve written many to my wife and others, where are they?

now, if you go upstairs at our house, you can pull two shoeboxes: one is full of letters that I wrote to Amy when we were engaged, and the other is full of Amy’s letters to me. We can hold them, read them, remember the place and time when they were written. There is something about holding something physical (imagine if the Constitution was electronic first…).

I have letters from my mom, who is in Heaven now. My grandma, who poured into my life.

I remember what triggered this. No one wants to check the USPS now. It’s only bills and junk mail. When I was a kid, and we moved to Alaska, I couldn’t wait for the mail to come. We lived off of the main highway from Anchorage to Fairbanks. No telephone, not even electricity or running water. Each day, we would drive to the highway, and there were a line of mailboxes right off the highway. We were box 113 or 139 or something like that. I remember always being excited to look and see if there was any mail in the box. Typically, I would get something if I wrote something (my Grandma Helen reminded me of that).

Anyways, we need to write letters. bottom line. more later.