Dear Mail,

I love when you show up on my doorstep unexpectedly (or expectedly!) and fill me with anticipation and childish delight. Even with the wonders of internet and email and digital everything, I miss the good old analog letter or parcel. Addressed by hand. On multi-coloured envelope. You remind me of growing up and waiting for packages from relatives or friends overseas. One time I sent the Queen a letter. Yes, THE Queen. I wanted to know what would happen when she reached one hundred, since she couldn’t very well send herself a congratulatory message, could she? I got a (real) reply from one of her ladies-in-waiting. For a nine year old, that’s pretty cool, even if it’s not Her Majesty herself.  I can’t imagine that reply having the same weight coming via email. It couldn’t have happened without you, Mail.

Best wishes,



…All that is to say: This parcel came this morning! Yes, it’s a beautiful (Tyvek) envelope and lovely card, but it’s ALSO dress-up clothes for baked goods! As soon as I opened it, I knew there were cupcakes in my future. (But for now, yesterday’s brownies get gussied up for some photos.)



My friend, Maegan, who sent this thoughtful package, happens to work at a place that can only be described as the candy store of gift stores. It’s La La’s, and I dare anyone to check it out and not covet something. Thank you, Maegan, for the baked good dress-up accessories–and for your charming Friday haiku habit… 🙂


In much the same way we enjoy dress-up (right Hannah?!), writing or receiving letters fuels my imagination. I often wonder where the letter writer was when they composed the letter, or if they’d been eating (and what?). I love the glimpse into life I get when I’m reading a letter. I love seeing a water glass ring on the corner of the paper; it reminds me that this letter was witness to the sender’s everyday goings-on. Once, a writing professor gave me back a manuscript apologising for the soup stain on page four. I loved it. The idea that she’d been eating lunch while reading my story made her, the story, and somehow my action in creating it, all the more purposeful.

And there’s such a personal beauty in handwriting that I worry will be lost if our kids move towards typing everything. I’m comforted by one friend’s graceful y’s and inspired by another’s cute little z’s. I can’t help but try to connect the writer’s personality with the way they shape letters. I was looking back at some, um, writing samples from high school recently and noticed how different my handwriting was back then. My ‘”ing” is much more similar to my mother’s now, and I’ve dropped the cursive r I used to have. The evolution of my handwriting says something about who I’ve become and the choices, however small, that I’ve made.

What’s your favourite thing about your handwriting?