DC vs. Paris: Part IV

My blogging has been somewhat erratic lately as I try to adjust to being a fulltime member of the paid labor force after a four-year hiatus.   (And since I actually got a real bona fide paycheck this week, I can say that with pride.)  In fact, the going to work part feels very natural, the right thing to do as part of my DC life.  The tricky part is figuring out how to balance out all the other aspects of my life around my work schedule.  I've still got two kids to take care of (even though they mostly pretend like they don't need me), a husband to pay attention to, and a household to look after.  Then there's exercise, reading, and what else?  Oh yes, blogging.

With that aside, I return to the series, DC vs. Paris, and bring you these pendant images of mailboxes:

The sad truth is one rarely gets any "real" mail anymore.  I scarcely go to the mail box myself except to mail a bill or an official form or the occasional birthday card.  And the mail that comes in through the slot in my front door is a sad collection of catalogs, bank statements, and real estate flyers.  The weekly letters I used to get from home?  Gone with the wind like my parents.  Fortunately, I have stacks and stacks of those letters stashed away, ones written to me at camp, at college, and while living my adult life away from my home.  When I pull them out, my dad's typewritten notes and my mom's lovely penmanship on her light blue stationery can make me smile or bring me to tears.  And when is the last time an e-mail did that?

So maybe I should sit down and write a letter:  to my sister, my college roommate, my friends in France.  Sounds like a good idea.  But maybe another time.  Right now?  I have to go to work.