Pen Pal

I don't know what it is about winter weather that makes me all fanciful. British accents, classical music, proper etiquette, intelligent men, the theater, acting, art. All the things that have been on my mind for the past few weeks. Well, I suppose they have always been there. Dormant of course. If I've learned anything this year it's been that when you live in a world that people don't understand; be that world and they will soon grow to love it, hate it, or be done with it altogether.

There's something beautiful and simple about the way things used to be. Everyone had a job or occupation. You didn't have so many people to choose from and many times people were chosen for you. Granted, that isn't my favorite but I have to say, they learned to fall in love. Or at least come to peace with it enough to do what needed to be done. Love in their world wasn't always romantic and passionate. Many times it was out of necessity and for money. Men would fight for the woman they were interested in. Just INTERESTED. Not even having more than a word here or there to go off of. And if it didn't work out, yes you were hurt but not devastated. They weren't entitled.

Where are they? I live in a world where everyone wants everything now. Even if it isn't for their own good. Including myself. But having seen what getting what you think you want too early gets you, I'd rather wait and keep grooming and loving until that time comes. Call me old school. The idea of writing letters and courtship make me smile. The last person I asked if we could write letter back and forth said, "Why? It takes too long. E-mails are so much easier." Sigh...I don't always want easier. I want meaningful. When you read a hand-written note, you get to feel the paper. See the curves and twists of the ink. You know they hand-folded it, put it in an envelope just for you, and paid for the stamp to send it. It's a lost art. A pen pal.