I just read Roger Angell's great piece in The New Yorker about the likely bankruptcy of the U S Postal System, which you can find here. I can't match his peerless writing, but it made me think about the mail. Coincidentally, I also read somewhere that the real problem with the Postal Service is not that mail has decreased, but that they are overcommitted to fully funding their workers' pension plan. I don't know enough to weigh in on that, but it made me feel a little better to know that the problem isn't a decline in mail.
I have a lot of affectionate feelings towards the mail. Just today, I read a postcard from a friend, and opened a Valentine from my parents and a thank you note from Teenie. It was such a treat to read their notes, in their distinctive handwriting. I love me some fonts, but they don't say "This is from Teenie" the way her handwriting does. My mom has particularly lovely handwriting, just like you'd expect a former elementary school teacher to have, and I enjoy seeing it on a card. (I've tried to model my handwriting on hers, and have often been told that mine is lovely, too, which makes me feel great!).
I am a voracious user of texting, emailing and twitter and I love all three of these services. I don't think a handwritten, mailed letter is better than these, but it is special. Email is wonderfully ephermeral, and, believe me, I'm glad to let it slip away most often. Postal mail, on the other hand, has the weight of deliberation attached to it. Reading Nothing Daunted, which I posted about just a couple of days ago, reminded me of the historical value of hand-written or typed letters, for much of the book is based on the author's grandmother's letters home from Colorado. My mom prints out my emails, because she's convinced I'm going to write a memoir some day, but I know I don't deliberate over them the way I would a letter.
On the other hand, the Postal Service can be a giant pain in the ass. The Brooklyn postal service is notoriously horrific, although it seems to have improved lately. A few years ago, I fought a two-month battle with my mail carrier to please stop dumping all the mail for my entire building in the foyer (s/he just didn't want to take the time to use the mailboxes? Although that is his or her job...). The people behind the counter at the local post office are so rude, I prefer to walk to another post office over a mile away to use their automated postal machine. And I've received magazines that have clearly been read before delivery. (My friend Corey saw his postal carrier reading one of his magazines in the diner downstairs from his apartment!) It's not fair to judge the entire system -- which does amazing work at a fraction of the cost of other countries' -- based on some crappy service, but still. I guess it keeps me from romanticizing.
Growing up, the mail was really important to my family. We subscribed to something like 35 magazines, and exchanged letters with many people. I had several pen pals, belonged to fan clubs for R.E.M. and U2, and my dad persued his hobby of autograph collecting by mail. There was some tension over who would get to go out to get the mail first. Every once in a while, we wouldn't get any mail, and we always knew something had happened at the post office or with our carrier. We always got mail. In fact, our high school musical director was a mail carrier, and I remember he asked me my last name and address when I met him. "Oh, the Reeds on Demuth Street," he said. "You guys get a LOT of mail." Yeah.
I think I want to try to send more mail. Not just bills and returning packages, although I do that a lot. But more letters, more cards. It's really just a case of laying in supplies... a few stamps, some cards, and the correct address. The mail, imperfect as the system is, means a lot to me, and I don't want to see it disappear.
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