The Lost Art of Letter Writing

Why don’t we write letters anymore? Is it the convenience of email; a matter of not paying for stamps; time issues; or have we just forgotten how? Letter writing is an art to some. The letters you see at the end of this blog fall into that category. The only letters I write now are usually thank-you notes, which I feel should be hand written as a courtesy, even though my arthritic hands don’t always agree.

I save any and all letters, thank-you notes, Christmas letters, or whatever personal mail I get and have for years. I have one box stuffed with them. I had more, but some have gotten lost in the many moves I’ve made since leaving home.

My intention is to use them in some way as a part or whole of some future book or story. To that end I began going through them last night to see what I could discover. Some of these letters go back to the early 60s and I have just scratched the surface. I think as I get deeper into the box I may find even older ones.

Some of the things I discovered as I glanced over some of these letters, cards, and other notes brought back many memories.

The most letters I ever received, I got from my mother, Evangeline. I think of her writing these letters in her distinctive handwriting style which uses the old cursive “r” and I thank her. Her whole life, since I was old enough to receive letters from her, were in there. I saw her handwriting change as the years went on. I can see where her hand shakes in her later years.

These letters show me the transitions that took place in my parents’ lives. From the years when they were taking care of us kids; to their retirement; to the years spent at the cottage in Spruce Head; the moves after selling the cottages to apartment living; and finally to my mother’s apartment at the Methodist Home.

Her letters tell of her busy life while I was away at college. There are many money concerns in them as well as her concern for me and my welfare. Many of those letters held checks or cash to get me by for a while. When I was at college in Machias, she would send me 2 or 3 dollars. That would keep me in treats at Helen’s Restaurant and activities at school. She would mention other expenses she had and the prices she paid for things, which are laughable today. She decided one year that perhaps she’d cut her Christmas card list when the stamps went up to 22 cents.

Many of the letters I received from home contained newspaper clippings. I have run into several pieces of my brother’s old column in the Bangor Daily News, which was called “Fish and Chips.” There are also obituaries of people I knew in the South End. I found a story about my father about his volunteer work at the hospital at age 80 in which he was quoted as saying, “The best thing I ever did was marry her” (telling about his marriage of 56 years at that time). He also said, “The most important thing in life is to raise good citizens.” He thought he’d achieved that goal quite well. What a thing to run into as I read and reminisced about my father.

I suspect as I dig deeper I will find many more treasures like this. I figure I’ll end up with enough clippings to make a family scrapbook, which I will probably do at some point.

The most heart-warming letters I have kept belong to those who are no longer with us, like my Grandmother, Ida Tolman. She always made a present for each of us in the family every year, even if it was just a crocheted snowflake to hang on our Christmas tree. She was an accomplished seamstress and crafter. If you gave her a few shells and some rocks, she’d make some kind of animal out of it for you. Her letters to me were mostly thank-yous for Christmas gifts I gave her; but she always added a few things about what was happening in her small world up there in Rockville. She was not able to get out very much because of a medical condition; so she would sit in her chair by the window and watch her birds outside and enjoy her many indoor plants. She’d tell you about everyone who visited her and about her love of nature.

I also treasure the few letters I ever received from my brother, Harlan, in his left-handed scrawl. He was a man of few words, but once in a while he’d send me a few lines about his life.

Other letters I’ve come across came from old friends I’ve met in one school or another which I attended, as well as friends from Methodist Church Camp, or Mechawana, as it is lovingly called. I attended this camp in Winthrop, Maine for many years. Many of us planned to come at the same time, therefore making lasting friendships possible. I ran into many of these same kids at college believe it or not. One of those friends I have corresponded with in one way or another for close to 50 years.

The funny thing about these old letters from friends is that they sometimes talk about people I can’t remember and I have no idea what they are talking about. So many people come in and out of our lives that sometimes the only places they still exist are in these letters. If I dig far enough I will probably find love letters from a guy name Rodney, who was my boyfriend at Mechawana. Last I heard he was having heart trouble. I hope he is still alive and well.

The next time you begin to write an email to someone you love, think about it. Wouldn’t it be better if they had something they could touch and feel and knew that you actually took the time to sit down and write them a few lines? I promise you that if you ever sent me a letter in the last 30 years or so, I still have it and treasure it.

Speaking of love letters, please enjoy these love letters written by famous people to the loves of their lives.

Thanks for listening.

To Fanny Brawne:
I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of
every thing but seeing you again - my life seems
to stop there - I see no further. You have
absorb'd me.

I have a sensation at the present moment as though
I were dissolving ....I have been astonished that
men could die martyrs for religion - I have
shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be
martyr'd for my religion - love is my religion - I
could die for that - I could die for you. My creed
is love and you are its only tenet - you have
ravish'd me away by a power I cannot resist.
John Keats

John Keats (1795 - 1821) led a short but brilliant
life. At the age of 23 he met and fell in love
with Fanny Brawne, literally the girl next door.
Tragically, doctors had already diagnosed the
tuberculosis which would eventually kill him, so
their marriage became an impossibility.

Henry VIII (1528)

To Anne Boleyn

My Mistress and Friend,
I and my heart put ourselves in your hands,
begging you to recommend us to your good grace and
not to let absence lessen your affection...or
myself the pang of absence is already to great,
and when I think of the increase of what I must
needs suffer it would be well nigh intolerable but
for my firm hope of your unchangeable affection...

Henry VIII (1528)

August 15, 1846

I will cover you with love when next I see you,
with caresses, with
ecstasy. I want to gorge yu with all the joys of
the flesh, so that
you faint and die. I want you to be amazed by me,
and to confess to
yourself that you had never even dreamed of such
transports... When
you are old, I want you to recall those few hours,
I want your dry
bones to quiver with joy when you think of
them.

Gustave Flaubert, famous French writer, to his wife Louise Colet.

August 1, 1810

Oh My William! it is not in my power to tell thee
how I have been
affected by this dearest of all letters - it was
so unexpected - so
new a thing to see the breathing of thy inmost
heart upon paper that I
was quite overpowered, & now that I sit down to
answer thee in the
lonliness & depth of that love which unites us &
which cannot be felt
but by ourselves, I am so agitated & my eyes are
so bedimmed that I
scarely know how to proceed...

Written by Mary Wordsworth to her husband William
Wordsworth.William of course is a well known
English Poet.