All right... I know what you're thinking. "Is this a once-a-week blog, or not?" In my defense, I've written letters. I just haven't written about writing the letters.
Two weeks ago
I wrote a letter to Amy, a woman who I still refer to as my youth group leader, even though it's been eight years since I was a member. She's been one of my best friends for a long time, and the group provided a chance for me to be a leader, and probably is one of the things that got me into college. She's a no-nonsense lady and always treated us like we were intelligent people rather than kids to be discounted. I remember she had us take an anonymous test about sex and STDs and stuff to show our parents that we knew way more than they might have thought. Anyway, I sent her a letter telling her what's going on, and some memories of our group.
One week ago
I wrote (but have yet to have found an address to actually mail it) a letter to my other youth group leader, Jason. Kind of the same stuff--thanking him for putting up with us, which wasn't always easy. He was a later addition to the group, coming in after the group and its dynamics were already in place, and he volunteered to work with us. He was (and probably still is!) a great guy. He moved away from our hometown while I was out of the country, he got married in another state when I lived in a different one as well, and I've had no contact with him in a long, long time. I don't know if he knows that I started dating someone five-and-a-half years ago, and that I married him! Unfortunately, Google and whitepages.com didn't turn up his information and he's not on Facebook, but his wife is. I don't really know her, so I can't really blame her for not responding to my request for their address.
I wrote a card to friends from our Madison days. Neither couple lives there anymore. They were married in Milwaukee last year at a beautiful wedding at the Milwaukee Art Museum. We moved out east a few months after that, they moved to Chicago to be a morally-neutral lawyer couple (she works pro-bono, he... does not).
I did make it to the post office for two-cent stamps, but I didn't photo-document the journey. Why?
The worker at the post office informed me, after I was in the door, that only service dogs were allowed in. I had my hands full with the leash, so no pictures this time. But meet Carla, our rescue dog. I wish she'd stop waking at 4:30.
Until next week!