Today, we communicate by texting or email. In my day, it was through writing letters. Receiving a letter was the source of good or bad news—the birth of a new baby, or the death of a relative who lived far away. During war time, there might be a letter from a soldier. My mother saved all my brother’s letters from World War II. He wrote a lot about the mud in the fox holes they sheltered in.
I loved everything about letter writing—especially choosing the color of the ink to use in my fountain pen. I preferred green to blue or black. I bought pretty writing paper with roses or other flowers on it. (We even had stationary stores that specialized in selling paper for writing letters.) We had to use blotters to keep the ink from staining our fingers. I was happy when ball point pens came in; my fingers were no longer colored with ink.
I loved both writing and receiving mail. It made the sender seem so close. I would save my letters and read them over, and over again. (I still have my husband’s love letters from 60 years ago.)
Postage stamps cost three cents then five cents. At Christmas the mail was delivered twice a day! If you left the envelope unsealed, it was a penny cheaper. Oh, what joy it was to receive a letter.
To this day, I still write letters, and personal notes on Christmas or birthday cards. As the words flow from my fingers onto the paper, I feel a deep connection to the person I’m writing to. For me, the beauty of letter writing still exists.
—Bernadette R. Gentry