All Wound Up

Saturday I experienced one of life’s great joys. I went to the mailbox and found inside a hand-written letter from my sister – a rarity in any relationship. It seems hardly anyone writes letters anymore.

Along with the demise of letter writing has come the dearth, if not the death, of pen pals. This is sad, as the regular exchange of letters once afforded children the opportunity to connect with someone they normally would have never met. I’m sorry, but email, texting and social media are poor substitutes to a well-thought out, hand-written letter.  

When my wife was growing up in Carver, her fourth grade teacher arranged for her class to get pen pals from Carver, Massachusetts. It was such a great idea that Rhonda from Minnesota and Lorinda from Massachusetts still write each other after more than forty-five years. 

Several years ago, when Rhonda, our kids and I were in Massachusetts, she and Lorinda made the necessary arrangements to meet each other. They even continued to be pals after putting a face to the pen.

There is a part of me that is a bit jealous of such a friendship. It’s one thing to be thrown together in a pool for swimming lessons or as roommates in a college dormitory and still remain friends decades later, but to a build a life-long friendship from pen and paper is to be marveled and honored.

The closest I ever came was a pithy weekly email exchange that began in February of 2009. I would not have had the pleasure of this friendship if a couple events had not happened earlier. In the latter half of 2006 I was invited to a meeting of some local folks and a couple editors from the Minneapolis Star Tribune. The paper was contemplating neighborhood editions for the paper and wanted to get some feedback from some residents of the southwest neighborhood.

After the meeting, I hung around and talked to the editors and one of them asked me what I do. When I told him about my occupation he then posed one of the most pivotal questions I have ever heard. 

“What else do you do?” he asked.

When I explained that like to write, he suggested that I send him some pieces. In November of that year, I had my first column published in the Star Tribune. For the next year I had the joy of seeing my words printed in the paper, but at the end of that year the format was changed again and I was without a reason to write, and a place to be published.

It took me another year, but I found another editor willing to take a chance on me. For the last eight years, with some time off for dream chasing, I have been fortunate enough to find space for my commentary in a local paper or two.

Almost every Monday morning for those last eight years I sent my work in to Pat Minelli, editor of the Shakopee Valley News, and often we would go back and forth electronically trying to out wit the other one.  I lost most every time.  Pat always had the last word when he would give my column a clever title that drew the reader in. Now I understand my keyboard companion is leaving the paper, and I am left feeling empty and sad, as I will miss our weekly exchanges.

Pat, you have granted me the glorious experience of seeing my words in print. It truly has been one of my life’s greatest joys.  Thank you and good luck.  Write soon.