A friend recently sent me back some letters that I’d written to her 20-plus years ago, just after we’d gone our separate ways following college graduation. I couldn’t believe she’d kept those tattered pages, and I was grateful that she’d shared with me this priceless look back at my 22-year-old self. The book mentioned in this post sounds like a nice way to remind us of the joy of old-fashioned letter writing in this age of email, tweets, etc.
Some of you may be aware that today is Valentine’s Day. Personally, my immediate family and I are not practitioners in the arts of giving greeting cards, flowers, stuffed animals, chocolates and whatever else might come on this particular day. In fact, when I first found out I was scheduled for today’s post, I felt that I had drawn the short straw (have I mentioned I’m not a fan of this “holiday”?), but a recent read and the fact that this month notes the 23rd anniversary of the blind date with the man who eventually became my husband, has given me some fodder for today’s post.
Our partnership which began all those years ago, was way before the age of Skype, Instagram, Snapchat and Twitter, and thus our long distance (he in Pittsburgh, me in Cleveland) relationship’s success relied on land lines, the Ohio and Pennsylvania Turnpikes (before EZPASS!)…
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