Time Travel in the Form of a Brown Paper Accordian File

My mother found my accordian file. When she told me she had it and asked if I wanted it, I practically yelled, "YES, PLEASE!"

As you can see, it's stuffed full. I have to keep it in a box. What it holds are all the letters that were written to me from my late high school years until I finished my mission -- six years of correspondence from my friends and family. The manila envelope you see next to the file contains a packet of copies of letters that my dear friend and old college roommate put together for me. It contains all the letters we wrote to each other, from the time we found out we were to be freshman college roomies until 1995, when she was serving a mission and I was married and had my first baby. It's a good three inches thick.

If you wrote to me during that time, I have your letter. In fact, I took the letter out of the envelope and then stapled the letter and envelope together, filing both under the the first letter of your last name. I liked keeping both the envelopes and letters, and over the years, I have pulled out various wads of paper and felt a pang of nostalgia as I recognized the handwriting of one friend or another. They were written before the internet, before email and Facebook, before you could dash off a hurried digital message to someone halfway around the world and know they would receive it in seconds. These letters were highly anticipated, eagerly read, and joyfully responded to (hopefully they were responded to. If I didn't write you back, I apologize 1000 times!).

When I look at that file, I realize how many friends I have lost contact with. On the other hand, I am in contact with many of them, in that casual, "I don't know what you're doing every second of your life, but I'm sure glad I can ask any time" sort of Facebook way. Even if I don't get or send actual paper missives through the post anymore, I love knowing these people are still in my life, if only as a picture and a few status reports.

When I got the file from Mom, Husband laughed. "You're not going to descend into another letter-reading binge, are you?" The last binge I went on took two days and resulted in me getting really quiet and thoughtful as I relived those times. I don't believe I even felt like cooking (although that could also be due to the fact that I haven't felt like cooking for a few years now). I've been careful not to get too sucked in this time. I think, however, it's only a matter of when, not if.