Are our memories in the hands of big brother? My mother is one of those conspiracy theorists who believes everything we do is tracked. Cell phones, computers, browsing histories, social media sites, even those “smart” devices everyone uses in their houses. She says everything is out there for the stealing. Our whole identity is there for a bad person to steal. I have to keep a landline in my home because she won’t call it; she says “big brother is listening in over the electricity”. She sends family newsletters and holiday cards via snail mail through the post office.
It got me thinking. When was the last time I received something in the mail that wasn’t a shopping flyer or addressed to Resident of Las Vegas? A lot of today’s world doesn’t think about the past anymore. Like living in the past. I heard stories about weathered boxes filled with envelopes tied with ribbons. Packets of love letters from a husband to wife, telling her how much he loved her, and why. Boxes of baby photos. A cedar chest filled with memories of your life.
We all have fond memories with loved ones. When did we stop writing letters to talk about them? A letter sent through the mail is so rare, that probably brings smiles when they are opened. Why don’t we pull a fond memory from our brain, hand write about it, and send it to someone?
What do you need to send snail mail?
- Some cheap stationary paper or a note card
- An envelope
- A pen
- A stamp
- Time
I recently sent a memory to a child hold friend of mine. I reminded her of when her aunt took us to the airport to watch the planes take off. At least that’s what the aunt did. Pat and I would walk around and look for people carrying briefcases. We would discreetly follow them, or sit and watch them, making up stories about that briefcase. Was it filled with money for a big business deal? An international drug buy? Electronic gadgets a spy needed to do his job? Maybe he was running away from something or someone.
That was the most memorable time I had with Pat, and I wanted her to know how much that memory meant to me. She called when she received it, and we reminisced for an hour. No text, no short email, a real conversation.
Who do you have in your heart you want to reach out to? Do it via snail mail. Today!
This is Miss Lare, signing off. Have a great day, Las Vegas, and remember, it’s not always the big actions that matter. The little actions embody love, too.