This Is Not Goodbye…

When I was the ripe old age of 12 and my family moved from our home six blocks away from the Pacific Ocean to a tiny upstairs apartment in the middle of a desert valley of Wyoming, my only connection to life as I had once known it was the letters my friends would write me.

I still have those letters, tucked away in a shoebox. I can’t bring myself to part with them, even all these years later. I still remember what it was like to read them for the first time, how connected I felt to the people who wrote them, and how much fun it was to pen, back and forth, about life and thoughts and goings-on.

Then came email. And cell phones. And texting. And MySpace. And Facebook. And the end of communication as we knew it.

I’m going to get straight to the point, without preface or defense: I despise social media and the “communication” it has birthed today.

I’ve gone around and around about the pros and cons, the benefits and risks, the what-ifs – on whether or not I should personally maintain a social media presence.

And I have decided, if it takes that much weighing to come to a decision, I’m better off without it.

In that shoebox I’ve kept over these 25+ years, are handwritten and typewriter laden pages upon pages of stories, encouragements, sharings, and special documented moments in time.

It was through those letters I was informed one of my closest friends and mentors had passed away following a horrific car accident.

It was through those letters I was able to experience the time a possum broke into my friend’s bathroom in the middle of the night.

It was through those letters I was told life had moved on for some, and others lamented its pace.

It was through those letters I was able to remember the voice, the persona, and the heart of some of the dearest people I had known in my life at that time.

And we have thrown it aside for things like, “Thx.” and “IDK if I can even rn.”


Maybe I’m a curmudgeon. This has swirled around long enough in my mind and heart, though, to where I know it’s not going away, not adapting, not changing. It’s time for me to nix social media.

I’m bringing the old ways back into the new days.

Technology is incredible. It’s how I earn my living. I don’t want it, however, to be the way I live my life.

I’ve already gone back to traditional kitchen basics: baking from scratch, canning, serving homemade meals every day.

I’ve been knitting blankets, sweaters, and hats for my family, I’ve been gearing up to [re]learn how to sew, and I’ve got a few mending projects to tackle.

I grow vegetables in my yard and raise chickens for their eggs and meat, giving them their best life right alongside my garden.

Now to add to that list. I’m going back to writing letters. Handwritten (or typewritten) pages upon pages of storytelling and feeling sharing.

The USPS wants help staying in business? I’m on it. Who wants a letter?

This blog, well, it will still be my online journal. I’ve been blogging since 2008, documenting life-altering experiences, snippets of wit, doses of healing the Lord has gifted to me. To my family.

This blog, for all intents and purposes, is a precious part of my history, and of my present. So it’s sticking around.

My kids love writing to their pen pals. There’s nothing as exciting to them as opening the mailbox and realizing someone sent something to them. They want to write back immediately and keep the conversations going, one stamp at a time.

Because it IS exciting. It IS worthwhile. It IS important to have letters and mail not soliciting financial information or a vote or yet another payment due.

It is wonderful to know you’ve been thought of, remembered, and someone made the effort and took the time to write out their heart’s contents addressed specifically to you.

So here is how to stay connected with me.

  1. Somewhere on this screen (to the right if you’re on a computer, no idea where if you’re on your phone…) is a little field for you to enter your name and email address, where you’ll get little updates from me about posting on this site, and anything else the whimsical mumbles lend themselves to when the email is being composed.
  2. If you so choose, message me your address, and we can be pen pals. You don’t even have to write back if you’re not up to it. I will write to you, and you will get mail. Granted, it’s more fun to carry on a conversation, but I can manage one-sided for a time if I have to.
  3. Don’t look for me on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn – – I’m not there. I’ve never “been” there. I’m over here in my back yard, sipping some Good Girl Moonshine, pulling Chinese Elm saplings from the garden, writing people letters, and online-journaling about my curmudgeon tendencies.

So there you have it. Soon enough, my Facebook page will fade away. Maybe the memory of me will also, as some rely on Facebook to stay “connected” with others. I don’t know.

What I do know is this: if you want letters, I want to write to you.

If you want to stay connected with me, I want it to be an actual connection, not a thumbs up, heart, or angry face click of a button.

If I’m a curmudgeon for holding on to traditional values, methods, and practices, well… maybe I’ll sew myself a curmudgeon badge.

And then I’ll write to tell you all about it.

For some incredible letter-writing inspiration, give this a listen: Letters of a Woman Homesteader

5 Replies to “This Is Not Goodbye…”

  1. I love you! Your writings have encouraged me over the years. We will always be connected! 💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻💋

  2. You are one of my favorite IG accounts. I did start listening to Letters of a Woman Homesteader at night by our backyard fire to unwind because you suggested it.

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