Lettering and the Art of Living

Sylvia donned her tortoiseshell reading glasses and placed the envelope on the kitchen table covered by a white cloth with a strawberry border. She’d only laid the tablecloth down last night and was pleased that it had very few stains, although she’d had it for a very long time. It had been bequeathed to her by her mother, may she rest in peace.

Sylvia intended to open the envelope with the letter-opener that she’d received from her friend Bernice. A letter-opener was different from a paper knife, Bernice had declared when presenting the gift years ago on the occasion of Sylvia’s birthday, shortly after they’d first met. Bernice ought to have known since her father was a stationer by profession and had taught Bernice all there was to know about fine paper. This letter-opener had a cedar handle carved with a grapes-and-vines pattern. Sylvia had wondered if it came from the Holy Land, but she never asked Bernice. If Bernice had told her, that would have been different.

Sylvia didn’t open her regular daily mail with the letter-opener given to her by Bernice. Envelopes containing bills, promotional flyers, and sweepstakes won were just torn open. Only special handwritten letters from family or friends were carefully opened with the letter-opener gifted by Bernice. If someone took the time to write Sylvia by hand, then she would take the time to open the envelope properly. That was just something Sylvia believed strongly in.

Over the years, Sylvia had mostly received letters from her mother. The letters were filled with the news from back home: the births, graduations, bar mitzvahs, and deaths, of course. But sometimes her mother sent her a new casserole or lasagna recipe she’d tried out with the “girls” in her mah-jong club. Or some new...