My tongue is in my hand…

Handwritten Letters

Posted on: June 2, 2009

Why does it always feel like starting is the hard part? I guess that’s true for a lot of things. Anyways, what is it I’m wanting to say right now? Something about this music and wine and blackberry incense. I think, if we really look close enough at the things we surround ourselves with, we will see people in all of them. There’s a person in the bottle of wine, someone in the incense, someone in the music. There’s a person in this laptop. The people that affect us affect us in so many ways.

I just walked outside to get my laptop from the car. I love the sticky air of North Carolina. Granted, other places have sticky air, but it’s not the same as North Carolina’s; can’t be. I was driving with the windows down the other day, trying to figure out the words that go with the air. How would you describe the weight of it? The cool thickness of it when you drive between the old, tall trees and the overgrown honeysuckle of a back road right before the sun sets? What are the words for that?

I got the CD I’m listening to right now in the mail today. The Royal Greens. I ordered it online, via their myspace. The package had my address handwritten and I remembered how much you see in handwriting. I forgot about that. I forgot about writing and reading handwritten letters. There’s something so much more intimate about that. I miss that. I’ve been trying to think of someone to write ever since. Someone who could and would write me back, on paper. It’s a lot harder than it used to be. Not that I don’t have the friends. I’ve got a beautiful combination of friends, absolutely. There doesn’t seem much need for letters between us. Of course, I think we say things in letters that we wouldn’t say otherwise, even on email. So, I could try…

That handwriting was a little ghost-like. Not the actual writing, just the shape of the letters, looked like something I’d seen before, something that made my heart crash around before. Or still. You know how it is with things like that.

It’s funny, the things I think about needing to write on during the days, when I sit down to do it, so much of it seems pointless.


3 Responses to "Handwritten Letters"

Looking at the handwritings of my mother, of baby boomers in general… Well, let’s say the tech age hasn’t been too kind to the written page. There’s less emphasis on handwriting, on cursives in schools, and it shows! It’s not true for all kids, but a lot of the handwriting I see lack the flair the elegance of those I find in my mother’s. But I shouldn’t speak, as you suffer your eyes to read my own handwriting.

oh I know, my handwriting is no good for the most part, unless I’m making the effort (which of course, I did when I was writing handwritten letters!)

“There’s something so much more intimate about that. I miss that. I’ve been trying to think of someone to write ever since. Someone who could and would write me back, on paper.”

Ahem… seriously. The postage is mad but I’d love to see your penmanship in my mailbox. And you’d definitely get something back. Australian cookies to go with your letter maybe?

You’re right, there really is so much that you can get out of hand-written letters, notes, anything on paper really. There’s a soul all itself in it. Something that even I, the technet-gadget-driven-gizmopheliac has to admit… you can’t with computers and typing.

I remember before we had computers (or at least before I had my own) and I’d do so much writing by hand. I dug it all up last year. A huge bin, two feet by four feet and at least 8 inches deep just FILLED with notebooks and every page massacred with lead and penmarks (but mostly lead, I preferred pencils. And I will continue to say lead, even as I know they are now more commonly made of graphite.) And you know you just pull them up and run your hands over them and absord that last moment when you were hunched over it with that pencil in your hand, scribbling yourself into something so fragile because it MATTERED dang it! It had to come out!

… I started writing again in pencil, no computer, no keyboard. It really is a powerfully spiritual experience. … for me at least.

Good call bex. Very good.

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