Rush and Neglect

As hoped for I was able to write a letter on Thanksgiving Day. (Sigh) If only everyday could be a holiday but such is not to be. If it were there would be nothing special about days set apart for celebration or remembrance so it is just as well that holidays are the exception not the rule. It is good that most days are characterized by a string of mundane and predictable events such as the ring of the five A.M. alarm and the morning commute.   Were every day a holiday there would be little to look forward to. It is good that each day is filled with (hopefully) a balance of industry and rest. But I get off topic. This morning I noticed that Thanksgiving’s letter lay neglected on my desk. I had gotten as far as putting it in an addressed envelope but there it lay, already buried. To borrow a phrase from a pen pal, My desk has reached critical mass. Finding it I decided that putting it in the morning’s  mail was more important than taking time for a wax seal. Surely conversation ranks higher than mere aesthetics. Were I to again set it aside to seal when time allowed it would doubtless suffer more neglect and by extension so would my friend who too long has awaited a reply. So off in the mail it went, ironically rushed after neglect, unadorned, but sent with love and hoping that all sins of neglect shall be forgiven.

I have given you a glimpse of my epistolary challenges these days and wonder if you, Dear Readers, experience similar challenges to being regular writers and faithful correspondents. I may succumb occasionally to rush and neglect but for you I hope success without strain and all the joys a full mailbox offers.

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