My mail for the past two weeks has been predictable and dull. I did get some Christmas cards, but the deliveries were mostly from catalogs. I also got notes from charities who have not figured out yet that I give from January to November and take this month off. Everybody gives in December, because it’s the month for remembering the less fortunate (if you’ve ever wondered what Boxing Day is, it’s said to be about the alms box at church, and has evolved to include other events such as department store sales). I didn’t order from any catalogs because I’m at a stage in life where I have everything I need, and it is time to start cutting back as I shift into my senior years of minimalist existence.
I did get one rather extraordinary piece of mail. If I didn’t look at the front of it right away to see where it came from, I would have guessed it was something to be concerned about. It was square and comprised mostly of blue lined notebook paper carefully assembled with tape. When I saw the return address, I was relieved to see it was from an old neighbor of mine we’ll call Gabriella.
Until the 80s, she lived with her mother and grandmother, brothers and sisters in a quaint house near the corner of the block. The family lived and breathed their faith above all else. They spent a lot of time doing regular activities and attending services at the large church/school complex nearby, run by a well known religious leader whose broadcasts on radio were part of the old-time tradition of strict Sunday adherence. I attended bible school and occasional events there, but the times I spent at their home were nearly always filled with messages, lessons and such thrown into every subject of conversation. Being one attuned to learning how to better regulate my life, I hope I was perceived as somebody who made a good effort. I was frowned upon for taking up ballet and reading young women’s magazines such as Glamour, but overall our relationship was good, and I did get an attendance award at the vacation bible school my final summer.
Gabriella got married, and I was a bridesmaid. The ceremony was held at the church, of course, and the reverend himself officiated. It was the second of two weddings I attended in my lifetime, and the only one I was an active part of. I have a videotape of the event which needs transcribing onto DVD for future reference; though the announcer at the reception called me a friend of the groom instead of the bride by mistake, I still cherish that recording.
Back to the letter. It wasn’t a long correspondence by any means. Gabriella apparently thought of me and wrote a line on the notepaper saying I was weighing heavy on her heart. No mention of Merry Christmas, how she or her family was doing, or anything. The letter was part of an envelope she could have used, which carried a tract, several pages of which were included.
Why she went to such pains to surround a true envelope with note paper is a mystery. The few words in its contents makes me suspect that my friend is not doing as well as she could be. Normally her occasional letters would have more content and show some precision at corresponding. This is concerning. She is up there in years, like me, but younger and certainly able to nourish her body as well as her spirit unless charity has not added enough to her household. I don’t dare ask. She wouldn’t tell me, only that she has what she needs.
My regular stationery is out of reach while I’m resorting, repairing and decluttering (I think my letterhead disappeared into a storage bin). I will reach into my piles of letter-writing materials that are still available, and send off a reply to let her know I’m thinking of her and not to worry, because I’m doing well.
I suspect I may never see her in person again, as she lives in the far reaches of PA with her husband and as many children as divine chemistry has placed with them. I saw her firstborn son, but there have been more beyond him whom I have never met.
I’m glad to be blessed with the ability to write physical letters when texts just won’t do the trick. She probably does not own a cell phone. If she had a phone or computer, I could at least see a picture of her. I’m not one to judge, but it would be nice to see her and at least know what the present day has brought her either way. Maybe that’s never going to happen, but she is still part of my history, and I would do anything for her within my power. Even send her some stationery.
God bless Gabriella.
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