Going to the Snailbox

Movie night. Our favorites include a pretty eclectic mix. We go from "Little Nemo" to "Pride and Prejudice". "Il Postino" to "The Hunt For Red October" "Chocolate", "Life is Beautiful", "Princess Bride", and "Young Frankenstein". Pretty much anything with Johnny Depp, Tom Hanks, or touched in anyway form or fashion by Tim Burton, all three in the Red Curtain Series by Baz Lurman - especially Strictly Ballroom, and too many oldies to mention. We even go for the occasional documentary and absolutely dive into anything that would only be seen on PBS. (My kids are the only ones in their peer groups who know most of the programs on NPR, but that's another post - geek alert!)

Tonight is, once again a replay of "You've Got Mail". I am not sure what the appeal is other than the sweet story that you don't need to think about later. For S'mee, part of it is relating to the opening sequence where both lead characters anticipate receiving mail. It goes back to when I was a little kid. Who among us didn't run to the mailbox everyday in anticipation of someone, anyone sending us mail? It stays with me still. Each day I head out to the snail box and search through the bills for a piece of friendly correspondence. The elation that bursts forth when finally, after a long period of time there is a surprise address to me!

Now I am the mom. Heck I'm 47 flippin' years old. When will this hoping end? Probably never. Because I am a hopeless romantic I will continue to search for the illusive piece of information that comes miraculously to my house from far away giving me a five minute reprieve from daily life to sit and "chat" with an unexpected guest from my past. I love that! "Who will it be today?" I wonder.

People have stopped writing like they used to. No more letters in the mail, just flyers and bills and odd random letters from my congressman encouraging me to vote for this or that, like his or her newsletter will influence me in a different direction. Martha wants me back and will give me a deal I won't be offered again. And then there are the missing children/$5.00 off oil change coupons. What a waste.

I have a friend, Sheri. She is a dream. She was a (hearing) friend of one of my (ASL) students who is this gorgeous bright friendly gal. She sat across from my student in a class and became a friend to both of us. She has this riot of rust coloured hair that I would die for and a face that reflected her inner love of life. On top of this she is one of the most creative people I have ever met. I used to receive letters from her via the snail. They would come on receipts or torn grocery bags. Sometimes on the back of a shard of cardboard. Each time they would be decorated with her penmanship and drawings. I treasured them for more than the words. They brought her personality back to me as well. She continues to correspond, just via the net... so no more art pieces disguised as letters. Her Keroppi stickers have been replaced by cc notations and work related addresses, but I love them still.

When things in my life go wrong, again I identify with the saddened and confused Kathleen after she has been "stood up" waiting for NY152 in the cafe. I long for friends to be there and reassure me things will be o.k. I hope for relations to somehow convey their love across e-lines and for me to have the ability to so the same. And, I must admit there are those who I long to have a relationship with, who frankly, could care less. But that's the wonder of e-mail; there's always hope.

This blog will eventually bring me more friends, most of whom I will never meet. My shopgirl, my NY152, my anonymous lurker who will say something profound and then disappear once again.

I go to the computer now, just like Jo Fox and Kathleen Kelly, waiting for family and friends to drop me tidbits of their lives. I like hearing about their dogs and husbands and the bragging about children who, less than perfect, are perfectly adored by the authors. Someone cluing me onto a great page or product or information I would have missed otherwise. I like hearing about the mundane things, the eye appointment that still hasn't helped the situation. It's like sitting on the porch stoop waiting for the rumble of a jeep starting and stopping as it rolls slowly down the block. "You've Got Mail!" I am ten again.