Today has been a high stress day.
Hell it has been a high stress week!
Writing gigs for people who don't know what they want, dramatic dinners and heat on the streets in Manhattan.
I need a cool breeze! Or at least a Bacardi Breezer. Kidding.
But today in my fit of frustration I head downstairs to collect the mail.
What do I find but a hand written letter from an old friend.
Now I am NOT discrediting any of you people who send kind 'Thank Yous' for birthday dinners, presents or nights on the town.
Keep em coming!
But a letter from someone who truly doesn't know how to use a computer, who I have known since a child, and who has been corresponding via snail mail for some 20 years means a great deal.
Marie Thomas worked at the Ponte Vedra Beach Club in Jacksonville Florida for eons.
I grew up here every summer until I was in my teens.
And Marie was there every year. She saw me fly my first kite, curl up in bed exhausted after my first swimming lessons and lay prone on the floor in anguish from my first sunburn. I can still remember the floors of our little cottages we would rent for two weeks, now demolished for mega resort rooms.
We send each other cards for birthdays and Christmas and occasionally just for fun. This letter was all about her big birthday party. He daughter had 70 people to her home and served up some mean soul food. Wish I were invited!
She always asks about my parents, sisters and my grandfather, 'Mr. Crawley'.
In these days of email and text messaging, there is no better feeling than to peel open an envelope (that is not a bill), sit back, read and smile.