Story of teh Day 9/ 9/ 2009

I was at the post office, today.
I had to mail a few packages and buy some stamps.
My family sends a lot of mail.
Not the electronic email, although we send that, too, but the stuff that is on paper and needs a stamp.

I have been reading articles where schools are no longer teaching handwriting because today’s students will need such a thing only to make a signature.
They are only teaching the kids how to print and then how to type. Or maybe they actually learn to type, first.

Meanwhile, back at the Margolis-Greenbaum house, I have been cruelly insisting that my children write. Letters, notes, postcards, thank you notes. Write. Okay, so my daughters do only print, but with ink on paper.

When Esther and Kara left for college, a little over 3 years ago, we started a tradition of sending them a postcard every week. Not one postcard per girl, but one from each of us- from their siblings/cousins and me , per week.
We would sit at the kitchen table and write a postcard to each girl, and then, during the week, I would mail them at intervals, so the girls wouldn’t’ get all three pieces of mail on one day, but would have it spread out.

I went to college back in the Dark Ages.
There were no cell phones.
Phone calls cost a lot. $3 for 10 minutes on Sunday and much more on a weekday. And you had to have the good luck to “catch” someone at home, since not only did they not always have a phone on their person, but there were no answering machines.
I wasn’t one of the rich kids- I had two roommates who casually made long long-distance calls home to mom every evening. I relied on the mail- the snail mail- as it is now called, to keep in touch with my nearest and dearest – my sister, Kim.
When I got my paycheck, every two weeks, I would hoard a small amount of cash and , every second paycheck ( meaning once a month) , buy some nice writing paper or cards- to make it more enjoyable.
I doubt there even exist stationary stores like the one I used to go to…..

Time passed, and I think that the girls started to take the postcards for granted. I would get, from Esther, at least, little hints like, “you don’t’ have to write to me.”
“You don’t’ have to make Aaron and Sarah write to me.”
But we also started getting mail back.
From both Esther and Kara.
I meal, snail mail, the stuff on paper with ink.

When Aaron went to OLAB, a one week pre-college program , during eth summer between his junior and senior years of high school, we wrote to him.
A few days into the program, they called the students up to get their mail.
They called up 4 students. Aaron was the first two of them. Then a girl, then, Aaron, again. He has repeated to me, several times, how embarrassing that was.

So, off he goes to college, this fall- which is really late summer in disguise. And he gives me instructions that he has copied from Esther, “You don’t’ have to write to me!”

And the weeks go by, and we write to him. Although, there are only 2 of us , now, sitting at the kitchen table- Sara and I- so the volume of mail the girls and Aaron are getting is reduced for them, although, more for us to write.

And we notice that every week, so far, Aaron has sent a postcard home to us.
Which either means that I actually did train him well enough that he has integrated letter writing as a life skill, or that it is just another display of his genetically programmed Jewish guilt manifesting itself.

So, today I went to the post office, and bought stamps.
And the mail-lady- which is more fun to say than the postal worker- who often helps me when I buy stamps, said to me, with great earnestness, “We really appreciate your business!”
Like I was the big spender at the casino.
And I thought, “Boy, the postal service is really hurting, that the couple of sheets of first class and of postcard stamps is considered a big purchase!”
Which, can be seen by the fact that the blue drop off boxes I grew up with are fading out of existence, just like pay phones have been doing , for a while.