Writing Letters as a "Be Here" Practice

My grandmother lived on a farm in the 30's, 40's, 50's and 60's.  Not only did she love to
write letters, it was the only realistic way of keeping in touch with her two children that
had moved far away along with other relatives and friends. I still fondly remember how
she would gather her extended family in her front room on a Sunday afternoon and
encourage us younger ones to sit still and listen while she read the latest letter she
received to all of us.

Through her, I grew to love to write letters and have always loved receiving snail mail as
well.  As an aside, I so loved it when email arrived because it seemed to revive the practice
of letter writing. While it's not the same as receiving a hand written letter, I've so enjoyed
hearing from those that I wouldn't have otherwise that I'll take it .... in a heartbeat!

I've always known it was the little daily details that I loved the most, both hearing from my
family and friends, but also what I most enjoyed sharing. In the last few years, I've come to
realize that starting a letter with what it looks like outside my window is really a practice in
being right here - aka practicing paying attention and/or mindfulness. It pulls me into the
present moment because I have to stop, notice, and think about how to phrase what I'm
seeing and sensing. It's a gift to me and, from the letters I receive, I know it's a gift to my
reader as well. When I journal (which a lot of times is simply a love letter to myself), I'll start
with the small ordinary details around me to help ground me .  At the minimum I note the
date, time, and temperature outside.

So a small snapshot of what it looks like here in my little corner of the world right now is:

It's dusk as I type this and the chilly, all-day belated March winds of yesterday have finally
settled into a welcomed calm. Two candles have been quietly burning all afternoon, one on
the small end table right here next to me and the other a short distance away with 4 of my
favorite angels gathered around the flame. I find myself grateful for the light as I haven't
gotten up yet to turn on the lights and, she says with a warm grin, aside from the glow of
my computer screen, it's getting pretty dark around here . . .

.           *          .