Snail mail still has some benefits

News Oct 29, 2009 Ancaster News

Are you prepared for the invasion of hobgoblins, Faithful Reader?

Are you among the light-hearted adults who accompany the young or the faint of heart? Or are you one of the young at heart who cannot resist the opportunity to trick for treats? I confess I no longer indulge in entering the fantasy world. The every-day world of tricks has become too close to anything I might ever have imagined. Folks whose most frequently visited friends are completely unknown entities except via electronic magic? What world is this?

The closest I ever knew of such a friendship was that of a school friend who had a penpal in England. They eventually met as young adults here in Canada. My friend was shocked and bitterly disappointed. It took her many years to admit it. I am perhaps among the very few who still write letters, sent by Canada Post with surprising speed and lovely special issue postage stamps. Currently my letters bear stamps of the two native Canadian horses, The Canadian Horse and the Newfoundland Pony.

The real letters I receive are read leisurely, more than once, sitting comfortably usually with a cup of coffee, before the answer is written. I am pleased to tell you, if you do not know, that CBC Radio One still gives a postal mailing address, not just e-mail. I use it and sometimes receive a reply.

On a completely different note, occasionally in the litter and trash I collect from the sidewalks and flower beds on my exceedingly busy corner there is some surprise. In the current yield is a page torn into several long strips. The information on this very small strip of paper is from Master- Card Platinum statement of an account. It gives the date, account number, amount of over $9,000 debt and a phone number.

Someone read it, tore the page into strips, tossed it from a vehicle window where it blew into my garden. I can only assume this was done in a fit of anger. Ahh, F. R. the heart of the mystery is … was this done by the delinquent, or by a long-suffering relative or friend? Who ran up the account? Was it one glorious spree? Was it a repeat after a solemn promise to reform? It seems to me to be an enormous sum. I give you the plot for a novel or a play, F. R. My life is too busy to take on the task. It does seem to be a waste not to find an ending for the mystery, don’t you think?

The inspiring strip of a page, wind blown and flung out a window in rage, shock, disbelief or all three has now been torn into smaller strips and flushed away where unsavoury items disappear. Let us hope, in real life there was a happy ending. Perhaps after a nuit blanche? Or two?

Through the front windows I see the late afternoon sun touch the maple just north of King and Market streets, turning it into a ball of molten gold.

The escarpment behind is a tapestry of more subtle colours. Is it truly exceptional this year?

Snail mail still has some benefits

News Oct 29, 2009 Ancaster News

Are you prepared for the invasion of hobgoblins, Faithful Reader?

Are you among the light-hearted adults who accompany the young or the faint of heart? Or are you one of the young at heart who cannot resist the opportunity to trick for treats? I confess I no longer indulge in entering the fantasy world. The every-day world of tricks has become too close to anything I might ever have imagined. Folks whose most frequently visited friends are completely unknown entities except via electronic magic? What world is this?

The closest I ever knew of such a friendship was that of a school friend who had a penpal in England. They eventually met as young adults here in Canada. My friend was shocked and bitterly disappointed. It took her many years to admit it. I am perhaps among the very few who still write letters, sent by Canada Post with surprising speed and lovely special issue postage stamps. Currently my letters bear stamps of the two native Canadian horses, The Canadian Horse and the Newfoundland Pony.

The real letters I receive are read leisurely, more than once, sitting comfortably usually with a cup of coffee, before the answer is written. I am pleased to tell you, if you do not know, that CBC Radio One still gives a postal mailing address, not just e-mail. I use it and sometimes receive a reply.

On a completely different note, occasionally in the litter and trash I collect from the sidewalks and flower beds on my exceedingly busy corner there is some surprise. In the current yield is a page torn into several long strips. The information on this very small strip of paper is from Master- Card Platinum statement of an account. It gives the date, account number, amount of over $9,000 debt and a phone number.

Someone read it, tore the page into strips, tossed it from a vehicle window where it blew into my garden. I can only assume this was done in a fit of anger. Ahh, F. R. the heart of the mystery is … was this done by the delinquent, or by a long-suffering relative or friend? Who ran up the account? Was it one glorious spree? Was it a repeat after a solemn promise to reform? It seems to me to be an enormous sum. I give you the plot for a novel or a play, F. R. My life is too busy to take on the task. It does seem to be a waste not to find an ending for the mystery, don’t you think?

The inspiring strip of a page, wind blown and flung out a window in rage, shock, disbelief or all three has now been torn into smaller strips and flushed away where unsavoury items disappear. Let us hope, in real life there was a happy ending. Perhaps after a nuit blanche? Or two?

Through the front windows I see the late afternoon sun touch the maple just north of King and Market streets, turning it into a ball of molten gold.

The escarpment behind is a tapestry of more subtle colours. Is it truly exceptional this year?

Snail mail still has some benefits

News Oct 29, 2009 Ancaster News

Are you prepared for the invasion of hobgoblins, Faithful Reader?

Are you among the light-hearted adults who accompany the young or the faint of heart? Or are you one of the young at heart who cannot resist the opportunity to trick for treats? I confess I no longer indulge in entering the fantasy world. The every-day world of tricks has become too close to anything I might ever have imagined. Folks whose most frequently visited friends are completely unknown entities except via electronic magic? What world is this?

The closest I ever knew of such a friendship was that of a school friend who had a penpal in England. They eventually met as young adults here in Canada. My friend was shocked and bitterly disappointed. It took her many years to admit it. I am perhaps among the very few who still write letters, sent by Canada Post with surprising speed and lovely special issue postage stamps. Currently my letters bear stamps of the two native Canadian horses, The Canadian Horse and the Newfoundland Pony.

The real letters I receive are read leisurely, more than once, sitting comfortably usually with a cup of coffee, before the answer is written. I am pleased to tell you, if you do not know, that CBC Radio One still gives a postal mailing address, not just e-mail. I use it and sometimes receive a reply.

On a completely different note, occasionally in the litter and trash I collect from the sidewalks and flower beds on my exceedingly busy corner there is some surprise. In the current yield is a page torn into several long strips. The information on this very small strip of paper is from Master- Card Platinum statement of an account. It gives the date, account number, amount of over $9,000 debt and a phone number.

Someone read it, tore the page into strips, tossed it from a vehicle window where it blew into my garden. I can only assume this was done in a fit of anger. Ahh, F. R. the heart of the mystery is … was this done by the delinquent, or by a long-suffering relative or friend? Who ran up the account? Was it one glorious spree? Was it a repeat after a solemn promise to reform? It seems to me to be an enormous sum. I give you the plot for a novel or a play, F. R. My life is too busy to take on the task. It does seem to be a waste not to find an ending for the mystery, don’t you think?

The inspiring strip of a page, wind blown and flung out a window in rage, shock, disbelief or all three has now been torn into smaller strips and flushed away where unsavoury items disappear. Let us hope, in real life there was a happy ending. Perhaps after a nuit blanche? Or two?

Through the front windows I see the late afternoon sun touch the maple just north of King and Market streets, turning it into a ball of molten gold.

The escarpment behind is a tapestry of more subtle colours. Is it truly exceptional this year?