I Still Love Mail

Tangible mail. Paper mail. Mail you can hold in your hand. Mail you can stick in a desk drawer, store in the attic, or smell. Mail with real stamps.
I love to know my postman's name - mine is Calvin. And I still like the title "postman" rather than "mail carrier".
I anticipate that time in the day when my dogs announce the delivery, when I cease from activity, sit on the porch and sort through the mail.
It's mostly junk, but catalogs are worth a quick peruse before arriving at their final destination in the bathroom. Total trash: circular file. The rest is sorted by family names. My pile is stacked similarly to the way in which I eat - least desirable to best. A handwritten note on interesting stationery will always go straight to the bottom to be opened last like savoring a chocolate creme brule after a tasty meal.
It's not something about which we speak aloud, but there is a bit of competitiveness between my husband and I regarding mailtime. A twinge of disappointment comes if he gets to the mail first. I actually enjoy the total experience- squeaky metal mailbox lid, reaching down into the unknown retrieving whatever lies within.
Home after an out-of-town trip, mail opening comes before unpacking the car.
E-mail is great, and I use it. But nothing could ever replace a handwritten note. Pen and paper still best expresses heartfelt emotion, gratitude, appreciation, love, and friendship. There's a sense of permanence to it. Paper mail will never be replaced