It’s not often now that we get ‘real mail’ in our letterbox. Even bills are scarce because most of them come via email and to get a proper letter, card or postcard in the post is a real treat.
There’s not much better than realising that someone has gone to the effort to post you an actual letter or card instead of typing up a few lines of an email or putting a message on good old FB. It’s not only about the fact that they’ve thought of you or remembered something important like a birthday but more about the process of selecting, writing and then (and here’s where I often drop the ball) getting the mail to the post office and off in time. I’m notorious for letting cards or parcels sit in my car waiting to be posted so I think this adds to my appreciation of those who are so thoughtful and organised that they get the mail off on time.
I always enjoy going to the letterbox, even though the likelihood of real mail is slim. I think it’s a legacy of a childhood of racing to the letterbox for Mum. There were a couple of occasions that stick out when there was actually something for ME in the letterbox.
The first was when a red, velvet dress arrived in a parcel from England. My Aunties and Uncles had posted it for my Birthday and I remember walking up to the letterbox and seeing a parcel sitting on the top. Brown paper, lots of stamps and on top of the box because it was too bulky to fit inside. Such excitement! The fact of the parcel was almost as exciting as the contents.
The second piece of real mail that I remember and still have somewhere was a postcard sent from my Grandad when he was visiting the UK in what must have been 1986. I missed Grandad dreadfully when he was away. I remember crying during reading group when we read a story about a girl not appreciating her Grandad and it made me feel so sad that anyone would treat their Grandad that way – what a sensitive soul I was. That postcard was (and still is) a bit of a treasure.