February 07, 2013
let me tell you a story about 'The Mailbox'
Yes, Virginia, honey. It's all so very different now that we just communicate with people with our cell phones, I-pads, kindles and computers.
It used to be that people actually went out to dinner together and talked, or visited with their parents at the family dinner table, instead of texting all the time, checking Facebook and Twitter.
We also put our sympathy, our congratulations, our fondest love expressions down in writing, and shared them in a very different way, honey.
We used what was called a “Mail Box.” There was one in almost every neighborhood.
Odd as it might seem today, people wrote down their thoughts on what we called “paper.” They used something called a “pen” or “pencil.”
Grandma or Grandpa would then put the “paper” with their written thoughts into a wrapper, called an “envelope.” And stick a little glued photo on the outside.
And put the envelope in the “Mail Box.”
A strange lady or a man would stop at the “Mail Box”, usually once a day, and remove all the “envelopes.” The lady or man were called “Postmen.”
The “Postmen” were a proud people.
They picked up and delivered the envelopes even when it rained, or snowed, or flooded.
They wore strange blue and grey tribal clothes.
The envelopes went by train, truck and airplane, to another person, in another neighborhood, city, state or even country, somewhere around the world.
It would take three days for this to happen! Occasionally a week or more. And, once in a while, the envelope got lost and never arrived at all.
Then the world changed.
The Postmen disappeared.
So, too, the paper and the envelopes.
And, so, too, but a few of these now relic “Mail Boxes” scattered in obscure, hidden away places.
Now, Virginia, honey. Time to turn off that I-Pad and let Grandpa tuck you into bed.
Sweet dreams, sweetheart.