There's an old blues standard that's all about how "the nighttime is the right time for love." Well, the nighttime is often the write time, too; especially during this spell of insomnia I've been staring down lately. So, when it comes crawling in bed with me, I bring out my Letter Box, it’s “The Write Time.”
I get my lap desk in a comfortable position, take the cap off my favorite pen of the moment, and I write. I write letters, and notes, and postcards. I seal flaps, set wax seals, wrap packages, and affix postage. When I’m done everything goes into the little bag that hangs from the outside of my bedroom door. The mail awaits its date with the postal peeps.
Today I have five envelopes, and two boxes ready for the USPS. On Friday, I sent air and domestic packages. Not sure how long it takes a package to reach Australia, but Dallas is a snap. I was also rewarded with a lovely postcard from Letters & Journals. This afternoon I found a pretty little postcard tucked among three envelopes. I so like sending, and getting mail.
I look forward to sending the packages to my daughter up north, too. It’s time for a Care package, aka a Mama Box. There’s nothing extra special inside this time, just sweetness. Went a little overboard gussying up the box. I mean, she’s not twelve or anything. Tell me, is it too much?
The Eiffel Tower is there because she couldn’t go to Paris again this year. It’s meant to remind her that there’s next year.
1 Cup of Love? Heck, there’s more than a cup! The measuring cups are easy, the real clue lies with the paper tape on the sides.
There are months of days, filled with cups of Love wrapped around this little box, and there’s sugar & sweetness, too. That’s a whole lot of Mama’s Love and goodness, no?
It’s never enough for my little pastry chef though. But, sure as shootin’ she’ll be embarrassed that her mama sent something like this without a brown wrapper. Once upon a time I told a dear friend how I’d embarrassed her when she was much younger. May I never forget his wisdom. He assured me that parenting comes with the privilege of embarrassing our children, on occasion.
So, during my “Write Time,” I get to embellish as much as my “heart” can stand. And I can take comfort in knowing that no one will tease my Little Chef about her mama's penchant for embellishing, with words or " mama art," 'cause no one knows her true identity.