Reflection on a Lost Art, Yet Once Again

When I went to the mailbox yesterday (which by the way is at a 45 degree angle because the plows hit in during the holiday snow), there was an actual letter inside. It had my name hand-written, a stamp, and a return address. I was stoked. A letter for me? On a Saturday? In Connecticut? 

It was a local address who mailed it and I didn't know the name. I sort of grew frightened. Could it be a neighbor inviting me to dinner, just to be nice? Are neighbors offended by the way my house looks? am I being sued by a psychotic nut?

Nope. Someone I do not know sent me a letter asking me to make a pledge to he March of Dimes. 

Sigh.

I'm guilty, too. I haven't written a letter in several years (although it used to be a weekend ritual for me). Now, everything is so immediate and I don't even see the benefit of jotting down thoughts to send someone - although I plan to try this year. I mean, Sara and I have been pen pals since 1986 and we've written hundreds of letters. It stopped however while I was in my doctorate program and text messaging and email took off. Then there's Facebook. Somehow it doesn't seem the same.

I wonder, though, how today's young would react if they got an old fashioned letter in the mail. Would it seem more important? More authentic? Would they see it as silly? Could they understand the genre of developing thought, slowing the pace of communication, and human connection? Do we connect differently now and is this more superficial? Are you human relationships built of tweets and updates?
It's something to think about; I'm not sure anything works like it used to: courting, relationships, raising a family, mourning, etc. Times have changed and perhaps when my time comes someone can sent of a message, "R.I.P., Rip....gtg....sorry you'll never brb."