Updating my address book

“This is not a letter but my arms around you for a brief moment”
~ Katherine Mansfield

I read a lot of blogs… well, a lot for me… slightly over 200, and they’re a prolific bunch of writers. But, even that number is misleading. That signifies how many blogs are listed in my Google Reader, not how many are active. I have all of these many blogs categorized in nine different folders. It makes it easier to manage and leave comments when I can (or feel that I have something to contribute.)

One of these folders is titled ‘Hiatus.’ There are 62 blogs listed in this folder. Some are written by people who haven’t posted a new entry in months, perhaps now, closer to years. But, I loathe to delete them… you know just in case.

I simply can’t bear to delete one of these blogs. Written by a woman who has been missing, presumed dead, for more than two years. The last posting was in October of 2008 and was a heartbreaking plea from her teenage daughter for her mother to come home.

I still hope that someone in her family will post something telling us what happened to Beanie, or that she came home, and is safe and well. I know that’s unlikely at this point, but just in case, I keep the link in my Reader.

A few of these sporadic writers are on Twitter and I’ve been able to maintain contact with them there. Whenever I open my Reader and one of those dormant files show activity, I get a little thrill, like a surprise gift was left on my doorstep. I stop by, leaving a little ‘welcome back’ note and hope the author remembers me.

Having started over on my own blogging adventure, changing names and location, I wonder sometimes if occasionally someone searches for a new post from me only to find that the old site is no longer accessible. Are they sad, or completely unfazed?

My regular mail address book is much the same way. I haven’t updated it in… well… forever. I have contact info for people I haven’t seen or talked with in years. Even my mother’s phone number has changed and I didn’t correct the listing. I hardly ever send letters or cards. I’m terrible for remembering birthdays, anniversaries, holidays. If I can’t fulfill my obligation with a phone call or email, you’re just out of luck.

It used to not be that way. When my husband and I were first dating in college, he co-oped – moving away every three months to work in his field of study. This was before cell phones, before Internet. If we wanted to keep in touch we called, late at night or weekends to get the lowest rates or wrote letters – hundreds of letters. All of which I saved.

I don’t think I’ve written a letter since then. At least, nothing longer than a scribbled note on a card. Emails, sure… but there is something unique about getting a handwritten letter. Something you can carry with you, to read any time you want. Something personal from someone special.

Considering how much I enjoy getting mail, I really should write more letters. I should be better about keeping in touch with people, and not simply let them fall through the cracks. I need to be a better friend.

I can’t complain if I am not doing anything to maintain relationships. You have to give to receive.