© Another Day in the Country
Who was it who used to say, “Keep those cards and letters coming in!”? Some radio or television personality? Some tele-evangelist hoping for your support? I do believe that phrase is going to become my motto.
I can’t even recall — and the lack of recall isn’t because I just had another birthday — when I last got a real letter in the mail. Now I get e-mails and phone calls from friends. It isn’t that we don’t connect, it is that the connection isn’t as memorable. E-mails don’t get tucked away in drawers to be reread and text messages can’t be tied up with pink ribbon.
This past week it was my birthday and I’ve become so accustomed to the low-class mail that I receive that I didn’t even anxiously look forward to receiving anything special at the post office.
Special things happened. I received lovely gifts — a chicken painting I adored, a bracelet. Daughters called and sang “Happy Birthday” on the phone. My old friend Tony surprised my sister and me and treated us to a birthday celebration and then some. “Here you go,” he said. “Have fun now,” he said. “Let me get my feet under me before you give me a hug so you don’t tip me over,” he laughed. “Have dinner and a movie on me!”
My Aunt Anna, who will be 102 in a couple of weeks, used to be the one who sent cards to everyone religiously. She gave that up a few years back and rightfully so. My sister always has been good at card-sending and she and our cousin Becky took up the challenge and now cousins are the ones in the family to remember — and not just remember, but remember with a card. Becky’s card came in the mail and I opened it up and sat it on my desk — an ornate triple-decked card. I grinned, “How nice!”
I got a card from my broker and when I was in the office yesterday, I said, “Thanks for the birthday card, Helen.” She laughed, “When you get a certain age,” she said, “you only get cards from your insurance agent and your broker.” Evidently I’ve reached that certain age.
It’s not that people don’t care — they’re just busy and while a friend’s birthday may slip into our awareness briefly, it’s usually the day of their birthday and we say to ourselves, “Let me give them a call!”
Three cards came in the mail this year — one from Cousin Becky, one from my broker, and a hilarious one from my friend Kay. Kay deserves kudos because not only was the card funny, it was on time, and she wrote a note inside.
“What’s with this card fetish?” I mumble to myself. “You don’t even know what to do with them after you get them — can’t keep them all, too good to throw out …” Maybe it’s not the card, maybe it’s the letter. Or maybe it’s just the attention knowing someone got the card, wrote in the card, mailed the card — to YOU!
In the years before I moved back to Kansas, I often spent my birthday with a friend in San Quentin. It was one of those “count your blessings” kind of birthday gifts that I gave to myself. It always made me more appreciative of the simple things in life. I’d go to visit, endure all the searches and waiting and inconvenience and then Jimmie would arrive and I’d take my quarters — he couldn’t touch the money — and we’d get Pepsi and popcorn from the vending machines and pretend it was cake. When visiting hours were up, I’d step through those prison doors into fresh air, flowers, and freedom — which before had been taken for granted — and were now the most wonderful gifts in the world.
Every year, Jimmie sends a card. (Some organization donates cards to the prison and he scours through them to find just the right message for his friends.) This year, for some reason, I didn’t even get a card from him. I’ve got to check that out.
While the brokers and insurance agents of the world send cards — just because we’ve divulged that important date to them and it’s good for business — it’s the cards and letters from the people that REALLY know us that count most.
It’s another day in the country and surely there’s someone to whom I need to send a card. No e-mail or quick call on the cell phone. No text message, either. I’m talking a REAL note-included-find-in-the-mailbox-and-surprise-you kind of card — even if it’s not your birthday!