Secrets in the Mail
The mail today contained flyers, a pair of shoes, and enticements to try a new credit card or magazine subscription. The luxury of having stuff brought to my door is not taken for granted - I am grateful that I don't have to venture out everyday to get bills and junk mail.
As time moves forward, this luxury will fade and become a quaint memory, like the Milk Man or the Good Humor Man, just blips of "oldy timey" slow motion clips mixed in with top hats and the click clack of hooves on cobblestone.
I notice the clumps of mail getting thinner, the heaviness of the magazines down to a few ounces, relics of a time past and the future is on my monitor screen laughing at the slivers of dead trees sitting next to it. I will miss the "mail", I will miss the tactileness of it. But even now, I rarely get a hand written card or letter, it's more of an art piece now when I receive one, meant to be framed and honored for the time spent creating it.
My mailman Richard has been delivering to my neighborhood for over 18 years, he knows more about me than most of my friends; a thought that scares me, he is the repository of my comings and goings, my love affairs, my sacrifices, my foolhardy choices on eBay. He is father confessor and the all knowing rolled up in a blue uniform with a ready smile. And who has that level of trust on the internet? Few. If any. But then again there is a bit too much revealed now than before, I have a daily record of my life now on Facebook, but still it holds only a smidgeon of what boils beneath this sweat suit clad body.
Mail, I will miss you, and once you are gone, my secrets will be delivered to me on a 24/7 time cycle and patience will be a virtue not required.
Image: Ophelia Chong / Letterpress on Origami Paper
