This summer, inspired by a couple of friends, and in the spirit of making things with my own hands, I started writing letters. When was the last time you wrote one of those? I hadn’t done it for as long as I could remember — maybe since summer camp — but the process immediately clicked with me. An expression of love, a mode of communication, artistic playtime, and an excuse to buy stamps. There’s a sense of accomplishment, intrigue and nostalgia when you slip an envelope into the mailbox.
From the beginning I was very ambitious. I had read somewhere that Einstein wrote an average of one letter per day. I aimed to write one per week. I wanted to decorate them with stamps and stickers, illustrate them with pencil drawings — the whole works. I dutifully studied the advice (sage and often uproarious, if a bit anachronistic) of Lewis Carroll, who, for instance, offers guidance on how to begin a letter:
Kloncke 