Sunday, July 13, 2014

It was a hot and steaming summer eve...

Aromas bring back memories, but so does passing a particular landmark, or hearing instinctive sounds. Touch also acts as a springboard for reverie, for recollections.

I once had a friend who owned a pair of suede-like jeans. I loved the feel of those pants. Then for years upon years that material was out of favor with the manufacturers. Three years ago I tried on a pair of pants made out of the same or similar fabric.

The moment I picked up the pants a reel of memories began to play. Unbidden. 

Today when driving past the Wayland P.O. I recalled renting a post office box in that building. Several times a week I'd drive six miles to pick up my mail. If I had mail I'd stop in at my favorite coffee house-- order a raspberry twist and a small cup of coffee and open my letters. 

It felt so clandestine as if I was a character in an espionage plot. Of course that was the era of longhand and written epistles. 

Today people simply change their email address or create a variety of email addresses. But you can't compare the opening of a letter-- especially a long letter-- with the opening of an email.

There's a plot here, somewhere. There's a story, but is there a storyteller?

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

I think summer camps may keep the art of letter writing going on. My granddaughter has sent 6 fantastic letters so far. I told her that letters are saved, unlike e mails, that years from now she will find the letters I and her mother have saved, and she can relive all those happy camp memories. I also enclose a new poem in each of my letters; we both love Mary Oliver and others.
Marcia

July 14, 2014  

Post a Comment

<< Home