I Love Mail

Yesterday contained a small but exciting change to my health sciences routine; in my pigeon-hole at Knox was an envelope addressed to me in beautiful, elaborate handwriting. Of course, it's not often that you receive such mail, and the sheer beauty amidst the typed university bills everyone else was receiving made it feel so very special. Part of the charm was that I honestly couldn't answer the looming question of who the heck was writing to me.

A slight disappointment was that it wasn't a long hand-written message after all. It contained no news of the weather in a little French town, the political situation in a huge American city, nor the family gossip back home in Wellington. Instead these romantic images floating through my head thanks to an excess of movie-watching and Jane Austen reading, along with thoughts of a secret admirer, dissipated as a small pre-printed card fell out.

But that card itself was wonderful- an invitation to preview the Ben Cauchi exhibition at Brett McDowell Gallery this Friday, which I'm now definitely going to of course.

Anyway, it's made me think just how great hand-writing actually is. And although it turned out not to be one, the  beauty of sending physical letters rather than emails. Sometimes I do curse the age we've grown up in and long for the times of the Bronte's.

Looking back at the envelope now I also realize that the Gallery is stamped on it. Awkward how an emotional response changes how you view things (or don't)...

xx