February Day Nine

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What’s good about Sundays? On a Sunday such as this, knowing that tomorrow is a public holiday is a damn good reason to feel smug. I love long weekends. They rock. In other news, contacting my friends on facebook, by traditional means is going damn well. I’m touched at how many people have reached out to have “real contact” and I’m especially impressed with how many of my friends have asked me to send them a letter. You know what a letter is, right? Those dodos from a time, not so long ago. A handwritten message, shoved in an envelope before going on a little journey all of its own before it reaches the recipient. I love letters. I love writing them. I love receiving them. So undertaking this part of my self-imposed challenge is something I’m enjoying immensely. Writing a letter might not have the immediacy of an email, but it feels more personal, like a little bit of yourself goes into it. What do you think?

4 thoughts on “February Day Nine

  1. Lyndsey lloyd

    Omg I’ve just received my letter…. Come home after a grueler of a day to find a special letter of one of my favourite people. It wasn’t a bill, it wasn’t a flyer, it wasn’t for someone else. It was a letter for me that took me back to my 12 months carefree in bondi x I thought reply, reply but I actually need to buy paper. I will own a pad of paper from tomoz coz my mate in Canada is getting reply xx love ya nic and thanks for making my day xxx

  2. Thanks so much for your response Lyndsey. Glad you liked your letter. No pressure, but you declared you would be writing a comeback…I look forward to it xx

  3. 'Berta'

    The written word, on paper, in the post…priceless! I’m currently back in NZ, 1 of my tasks being to clear out the stuff I’ve had stored at a friend’s place for the past 5 years in my absence. Furniture, nic-nacs, kitchen bits and pieces, bedding, memorabilia, clothes, a Japanese print hanky folded into the shape of a kimono…the usual stuff. Bit by bit, box by box I slung it, gave it away, gifted stuff, gave it to op shops, whittling it all down to a single shoe box of what I realise to be ‘my precious’…letters, cards and notes from friends, family and lover. Unique, handwritten, for my eyes only. And if anything was to bring tears to my eyes in this necessary cull, there it was. And they’re keepers, every one.

    • IT’s amazing isn’t it, when forced to assess what is really important that it boils down to the simple things: mementos from people we love. Thanks for sharing your de-cluttering story Berta x

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