I wrote a letter of sympathy today to a long time friend who lost his father. Whenever I have something serious to convey, I say it in a letter. And, not just any old letter. I use a fountain pen with black-blue ink and very good stationary.

Someone recently told me that writing letters is a lost art. I hope not, because a letter, for centuries, is how a person best communicates their most personal thoughts, I think.

I like writing letters. Being the hopeless romantic that I am, I always feel that writing letters is the most optimistic of acts. When you sit down to write a letter, you have to be optimistic that someone will open it up and read it.

A letter never intrudes. A phone call nearly always intrudes. An e-mail intrudes most of the time. But, a letter can be opened up and read whenever a person wants–and, can be kept to be read over and over again.

There you have it–from a hopelessly romantic optimist, who doesn’t like to intrude!

Where is that pen and paper, anyway?