A letter came the other day. Just like an old-fashioned epistle from the past, a time when people sat down, took pen in hand, used stationery, put it in an envelope and send it through the mail. It is a tremendous stack of mail that arrives daily at the Rondarosa and takes quite a while to sort through and handle. I picked up the envelope, opened it and pulled out a three page letter written in cursive with ink. Though time was anything from plentiful, I dragged out a chair, sat down at the kitchen table and started to read this personal form of communication. I eyed it with interest and did not hurry. I savored its words. Just like people once did. She explained who she was and the connection we share. This she did not have to do. Though I haven’t seen her since my pre-teenage years, I remember her clearly.