I have always been a letter writer. I have loved to write
since I was very young.
Max Lucado tells a story about a workman driving a gravel
truck for a work project on a lot across the street from his home backing into his mailbox
and knocking it over. It was the week before Christmas. He propped it up with
three 2x4s – wasn’t pretty but it was functional. He says that, at any other
time of the year, he would have left it on the ground. But this was the one
week of the year when mail was FUN. To quote him: “It was the week of over-nighted
nuts and packaged fruitcakes and frenzied mailmen. Add to that a gift from Aunt
Sophie and a calendar from your insurance agent, and you’ve got a daily reason
to whistle your way to the mailbox.”
I do not find my general mail fun. It contains bills. Bills
involve work and effort to handle. It is full of credit card offers with
promising interest rates that will give me a quality of life unheard of before
they deemed me worthy of blessing me with their card that will happily suck the very dregs from my bank account as I serve a life sentence to their interest fees.
This involves dragging out the shredder and putting it on the kitchen counter
away from puppy tongues. More effort and work is needed to eradicate them. My
mail is full of sales catalogs. Here again, some effort involved in stacking and dumping in the recycle bin. I love the Miles Kimball catalog – I have
all types of cool kitchen and household gadgets from there. But, with that free
catalog comes a host of other companies that they share their address list
with. The list is endless, but the one I find the funniest is from a fashion retailer
titled . . . . wait for it . . . Tall, Slim & Elegant. I kid you not.
Max wrote some funny letters he said he hoped he never
gets. They were pretty funny. Like the one he made up written to his wife about an error on a pregnancy kit. OOPS. What you thought you weren't you really are. Jimmy Fallon has a really cute sketch on Thank You Notes. You should buy the book. It pokes fun of everything.
Quick Detour
A number of years ago my purse was stolen from my office at
League City UMC. It was a school day. People were in and out. I had my purse on
the floor getting ready to go play the organ for a funeral offsite. I made a
quick pit stop in the ladies’ room and returned to discover it gone. Someone
had walked down the hallway and simply stepped into the empty office, probably
stepped around and behind the desk to scope out computers and saw a free ride.
I ran the gamut of emotions that day:
I was angry, because it inconvenienced me. My ID was in
there. Some cash was in there. ALL my credit cards were in there. Now I had no
ID to drive to the funeral with. I would have to stand in line at the DMV. God
bless us one and all on that trip. I would have to run home to get my bill
folder and cancel all my credit cards AFTER the funeral, which gave the thief
time to compromise me.
I was upset with myself for pulling such a bone headed stunt
as to leave it where it could be seen. It totally distracted me from playing my
best on the organ for the service honoring a friend’s deceased mother.
Then I realized I was devastated by the loss of a simple
piece of paper. It was a note penned by my daughter at the age of 9 or 10. It was a one line letter. Along with a drawing of a rainbow and some lips for kisses,
the note reads: The Lord put women on earth for man and child to love.
I spent the balance of that Friday going to my bank, going
to the DMV to ensure I would be a documented resident again, calling the car
insurance company and calling all the credit companies. Two of my credit
companies informed me that they actually stopped the charges when a specific
action was taken that is a flag to them. Both had tried to call my cell phone
to confirm the charges. When I didn’t answer (because it was in the jacked
purse) they shut it down. Apparently thieves try a
card at a gas pump for just a few bucks, then go in and buy a bunch of beer and
cigarettes. The gas pump charge for a little money is an actual flag programmed
in their systems. Since I never purchase gas on a standard credit card other
than Conoco, it was a real flag. People who use their cards for gas have a
different scale of flag. I was somewhat relieved on those points, but my day
was ruined, my weekend was ruined, and I considered my life ruined because
something I treasured was in that purse.
Monday morning rolled around and the sheriff’s department
arrived on my doorstep. I had already gone to work, but Ramon answered the door
and told them where I worked. They gave him a card and instructed him to have
me call. I did. I went to their office in League City and identified my purse.
All cash and cards were gone. Everything had been moved around and opened. They
suggested I throw all makeup and personal products away. Poisoning was a possibility.
My hands trembled as I thumbed through the papers thrown in the bottom of the
bag. It was there. I unfolded it gently and years fell away. As soon as I got
it back to the office, I scanned it for safety. I sent an email to my daughter
telling her of my good fortune getting the purse back. She replied, “Why
bother? You buy cheap purses. They told you to throw away the makeup. You’ll
get new credit cards. Sounds more trouble than it was worth.” My response, “Please
see the attached. You wrote this when my heart was breaking over something. I
doubt if you’ll remember even doing this, but it has remained with me every day
of my life since you slipped it to me when I dropped you off at school.
It is the watermark in the background of the only photo I
have of our three generations. Mother was already slipping away from us. We planned a photo shoot at the Fort Worth
Botanical Gardens on Mother’s Day 2007. Tina and I bought matching outfits for
us. We told my mother what we planned. Alas, she didn’t really grasp what we
were telling her the day before, so she came out donning a pink pant suit. We
steered her back to the room and told her to put on the cream undershirt, pale
pumpkin over shirt and the black pants. During the whole photo session my son
in law exercised a lot of patience trying to get mother to look in his direction. As
we walked back through the park to leave, we passed a family doing the very same
thing. The father joked aloud, “Say, what could possibly be going on with
everyone dressed alike on Mother’s Day?” Tina and I laughed. My mother, literally,
said, “I have no idea why we did this.”
You should have seen the look on those people's faces. The credit card line of "Priceless" fit. I wish I could have heard their conversation after mom's remark.
