One of the treasures my sisters and I inherited from our parents is a box stuffed full of letters, written between them before they were married, when my dad was studying to be an architect at the University of Washington, and my mom was living in Denver.
The letters are full of the small bits of life, things you write to remember a particular day or event, the weather, the sunset. My mom's letters are much more romantic than my dad's; sending her love across the miles, missing him, sending him news of his family and hers, so he feels connected to his roots. His are full of friends and classes, football games, exploring downtown Seattle, his wonder at the natural scenic beauty of the Northwest.
We lost something important, when the electronic age made handwritten letters a thing of the past. Few people save e-mail, and you can't re-read a telephone call. All that is shared between people in these ways is lost forever.
Texture Tuesday . Downton Abbey . Edith
That is so true. The written word is a dying art. How fun, and also a bit hard I would imagine, it must have been for you two to read these.
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