Every now and then we get these slow periods at work where the three of us in my little group completely run out of work to do. Today was one of those days, and it's starting to seem like the whole week will be like that. So I was pretty languorous with my break this afternoon. Not that I'm ever in a rush to get back to it.
I called my mama (Hi Mama), and I'd mentioned that I went to the post office on my lunch break. She got all excited and wanted to know what sort of exciting things I was mailing. They weren't that exciting, but still. There's a reason Griffin and Sabine is one of my favorite books. Real mail is fun.
I read Nick Bantock's memoirs once (The Artful Dodger. It's really good, if you like his books), and the part where he talked about getting the idea for those books is one of the parts that stuck with me the most. He said something about how he was at the post office one day, and a woman in front of him had fantastic-looking mail, and it got him thinking about what sort of mail he'd love to get. He said something also about how you have to send good mail to get good mail.
I like sending mail. I've got this nice stockpile going of stationery and notecards, and really good pens, and I even have some sealing wax. Every now and then I'll send someone a letter, just for fun (tonight I'll be writing one to Mama, since she asked for one). But I never seem to keep it up. It'll be one or two, and then that's it for awhile. Sometimes I think that maybe if I had the right person to write to, I'd keep it up. But how often do a George Bernard Shaw and a Mrs. Patrick Campbell find each other?