Imprinting Something of Yourself On a Piece of Paper

Or, the worth of a handwritten note

I’ve been doing a lot of spring cleaning (or summer cleaning, I guess). This includes going through stacks of paperwork, letters, cards, and even collections of recipes torn out of magazines. At least the recipes were easy – I’m severely allergic to peanuts and tree nuts, so anything containing those I could put on the recycle pile.

However, I don’t throw out any cards or handwritten letters – even if they belonged to my mother or grandparents. It is bittersweet to see Christmas cards addressed to our family by people who are no longer with us. Of some I only have a vague recollection as I last saw them when I was small. And I realised that I truly miss sending cards and letters - proper handwritten ones.

With the postal strike dragging on and on and on... and on, it is difficult to send letters or cards anywhere, and I hope that the private companies will become more affordable. This is also why most people are switching to only electronic communication even for personal letters, I expect. But looking at all the cards containing so many memories – the condolences, birthdays, Christmases, and weddings, I decided to make an effort to give more cards. To write letters as often as I can. To reach out to people.

Sending an email or instant message to friends in other parts of the world is absolutely wonderful, but I’m starting to miss the way in which a handwritten letter or note can touch your heart – because you know that someone took extra time to write it. It is as if something of the person is imprinted on the paper along with the pen marks.

So, on Handwriting Day 2015, I am making a promise to myself to write more, to share more, to give a personal touch wherever I can to show that my ‘thank you’ is not simply something I type and send in a few seconds and then forget about, but something I truly mean and want to take time to express.

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Sometimes You Just Need Cheap Tea

Or, a Wednesday musing

I love tea. I also appreciate the differences in different teas even more after reading For All the Tea in China by Sarah Rose a while back. I try to keep a few different types in the house – I love English Breakfast, but sometimes need something a bit stronger. Or I go in the opposite direction and drink Darjeeling. And I really need to cut down on my caffeine, so I also drink a lot of rooibos. Some would probably say I drink tea completely wrong by adding milk and sugar to everything. But this weekend I found myself wanting one specific tea and only that tea. It was, in fact, the one my grandmother always had in the house – and the one I drank before I even knew you got stuff like Darjeeling and Assam.* And this weekend I felt especially nostalgic.

Doctor Who mug by Ophelia's Gypsy Caravan

I needed that tea. It’s a strange thing when you sit at a place you haven’t been to in years and then suddenly bam! Everything that ever happened there suddenly hits you between the eyes – the good, the bad, everything. You start to think about everyone you haven’t seen in years, the ones who passed away, the ones you left with your heart breaking in a million pieces. And the only thing I wanted was comfort tea.

I guess it’s a good thing the tea we always drank wasn’t an expensive one and that you can find it in every supermarket. So, when I picked up some cat food (because Sir T now decided he only wants to eat that specific flavour of food and nothing else) I decided to get a pack of the tea as well. Because, you know, it’s silly to go all the way to the shops when you already have tea in the house...

And somehow, curling up with that and a book, it made me remember the good times. And even the bad times suddenly didn’t feel quite as bad. Sometimes you just need a cup of cheap tea.**

* I grew up in my grandparents' house.

** I’ll rather not give the brand name – they may not take too kindly to me calling it “cheap”.