MY BABY, SHE WROTE ME A LETTER

I don’t write letters anymore. Honestly, who does? I prefer e-mail as a means of communication, although, even e-mail has become relatively archaic in these days of tweeting and texting. That’s an art that I just can’t seem to wrap my fingers around given the size of the keys in contrast to the size of my thumbs. I don't tweet. I can't speak the language. Even when I am able to figure out how to text I can’t seem to get the right letters onto the screen. And, with the text “language” that everyone uses, I may be sending a pretty indecent proposal when my initial intention was honorable. I suppose if I get any of my grandkids to sit still long enough, I could conceivably learn how to do it. I have nothing against traditional letter writing. It truly is a lost art form. For what seems like an eternity, letter writing was the mainstay for communication and, in many cases, these letters became legacies and, in some cases, great literature. Great minds would write to other great minds, telling them things like how great they thought the other guys mind was. Volumes have been published that consisted solely of letters. The Alice Walker masterpiece “The Color Purple” was a series of letters to the protagonists sister and, ultimately, to God. Nowhere is the human being more truly revealed than in his letters. Mark Twain is, perhaps, the greatest satirist we have ever produced (with all due respect to the likes of Lenny Bruce, Family Guy and South Park). His letters are quite revealing. He was a man of few restraints and of no affectations. In his correspondence, as in his talk, he spoke what was in his mind, unencumbered by literary conventions. Like I said, I have nothing against traditional letter writing. My gripe, these days, is with my mailman. It must be post office policy, but, if there is a vehicle parked within 15 feet of the mail box, he won’t deliver the mail. I have nothing against policy. A rule is a rule, but I live at the end of a cul-de-sac. It’s a very difficult are for visitors and those who are there on business to park, but, people do try their best. I have a new neighbor who is having quite a bit of work done to his house. This means there are always trucks and cars nearby. The poor guy hasn’t seen his mail in, probably two weeks. I’ve missed a few deliveries as well, so, creditors, please don’t get too upset when my payment is late. I haven’t received a bill. Here is the paradox. The other day, I saw the mail truck moving up the other side of the street. As he approached my mail box, he noticed a truck in front of the neighbor’s house (and, yes, his mail box). I knew that he would not get a delivery…..again. The mailman must have deemed that the truck was less than 15 feet from my mail box. It was probably 12 to 14 feet away, but less than 15. Needless to say, I got no mail that day either. The mailman did, however, stop his truck, get out, walk over to my neighbor’s mail box and put in a notice that said “Vehicles have to be more than 15 feet from the mail box.” He then got back in his truck and drove away. Could he not have delivered the note along with the guys mail? Did he have to make extra work for the sorters back at the office? Did he have to make my neighbor late in paying his bills? I mean, he was already out of the truck and sticking his hand in the mail box anyway. Neither rain nor sleet nor gloom of night? But, a truck parked within 15 feet of a mailbox. That, apparently, falls under an entirely different set of rules I am the son of a woman who has always believed that a good letter can get great results. Whether it’s a letter to the editor, to a merchant who she believes has scammed her or praise for a job well done. She instilled in me a love of language and its ability to garner results. I’ve toyed with the idea of writing a letter to the post office to complain about the situation, but my neighbor is still having work done and I’d hate to have all that well thought out prose languishing all alone in my mail box for the next two weeks.