For months now, my mom and I have been sending each other snail mail. I have to admit, she writes more than I do. It started during the pandemic when no one was traveling. My mom has a phone and an email address, but she doesn’t text and she doesn’t use a computer. We mostly talk on the phone. But until very recently her hearing aids were giving her trouble and talking on the phone was a humorous challenge.
My mom’s latest letter came today. She sends cards with no writing in them so I can reuse them. They’re often cards she got in the mail for free from some charity she supports. She writes her notes on separate paper and fills the envelopes with things she cuts out of the Sunday news.
Columns by two different writers are always included because she says, “You could do this. Submit something to your local paper.” I told her we don’t have a local paper.
In today’s letter she said she’s so happy that she won in Vegas. She treated her friends to dinner and breakfast and generously tipped the casino workers and others. She’s looking forward to gambling again because she found a “system”.
After updating me on a few things happening with the family, she ended the letter with, “Buy a pizza.” I was perplexed. She knows Rob is the cook in our home, so it wasn’t like she thought I needed a break from cooking.
I unfolded the newspaper clippings and a twenty dollar bill fell out. Now it made sense – part of her winnings.
It reminded me of another unexpected gift. My brother, who collected disability, and often had trouble making his meager ends meet, once sent me a birthday card with a ten dollar bill in it. I was so touched that he would send me money when most of his months outlasted most of his checks. I didn’t feel like I could just give his ten dollar bill back, so I snuck ten dollars back to him. But I also couldn’t spend it. It was and still is a precious gift to me. I still have the card with that bill in it. My heart swells with joy whenever I come across it.
My mom, on the other hand, has no money problems, so I’ll buy a pizza and think of her as I share in her latest lucky windfall.
Steffie once sent my family a Christmas card with 3 five dollar bills in it, “one for each of us.” As soon as I read those words, two hands shot in snatching their loot!
That’s funny. She always sent me a fiver for Christmas. But not one for each of us.
A kid in my neighborhood, who is now in his thirties, once mailed me a Christmas card with two quarters taped to the inside. I saved it. It’s stored with my Christmas decorations. Every year I pull it out, open it, and out flies a little glint of Christmas joy.
She is my hero