"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.

Sunday, December 14, 2014

11 Days 'til Christmas

Waiting for mail, watercolor card
Letter from Grandmother to my Dad--real mail
In these digital days of a flood of useless "e-mail," of "texting," of constant cell phone contact, it seems the only mail that arrives in the real mail box is either bills or sale catalogs. My first stop on getting the mail is the outdoor recycling bin, where most of it is dumped unopened.
No wonder it's a treat when "real mail," arrives--a personal letter or card, hand addressed, always first opened and treasured. It's the personal touch missed today in the digital world. I wouldn't take for the ability to "Skype" my kids who are far away, and for our military stationed far away from their families. But, real mail takes us back to the days when there was more such mail, letters written because it was the cheapest and best  or only way to stay in touch with loved ones and friends, across the years and miles. We need that personal touch more than ever these days.

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