I can still vividly remember writing letters back and forth, when that was the only other way to communicate with far-away relatives – besides an expensive phone call. My friend Amy and I wrote each other back and forth for years after I moved away. Years. My stomach still knots up when I think about writing a letter to my twin sister when we were apart for those few but long years in our teens (I’ll write about that in the memoir I hope to finish some day). And I still remember how frustrated I got when my grandma stopped returning my letters because, she said, she had nothing important to say.

Receiving a letter in the mail is like celebrating Christmas for a moment. When I open the mailbox and find a letter from a loved one it’s almost like they are standing there next to me. I want to run back inside the house, sit down, and concentrate on nothing but the pages. It means a lot because someone actually thought enough of me to take the time to write me a letter, rather than pick up the phone…or neither.

I am guilty of preferring email or text over a phone call – I just don’t have time to talk on the phone. Phone calls are so frustrating because I can’t talk to anyone without getting harassed and interrupted every five seconds. But letters…those are the big mamma jamma. Those are serious business. The real deal.

I just love them.

Neil’s grandma and I have been writing letters back and forth for the last few years. I just love that I can write her a letter and know that soon I will receive one in return. It is so awesome. There is really nothing like it.

That’s why personal letters are some of my favorite things. Which reminds me, it’s my turn to write. Better get to it.