During a recent decluttering spree, I uncovered a very old box of onion skin paper. Lightweight and almost transparent, I used this back in the day to send air mail letters. Anyone else remember this stuff?
I tossed the paper, but the impulse to reconnect with friends who live far, far away inspired this nudge. I may look at our holiday card list and choose someone with whom I exchange family photos just once a year. Or maybe I’ll scroll through old posts on social media looking for someone who’s clicked “Like” a lot, but we haven’t so much as shared comments.
In an email (or maybe a letter, because international postage really isn’t that expensive), I might:
- open with a shared memory, such as how we met or the last time we saw each other in person
- share a bit about why I love where I live in now and ask about their current home city
- reminisce about past adventures and include my bucket list of future destinations
- reflect on how travel—and correspondence—has changed in the last century (Taking and sending photos with my telephone?! This would have blown my grandparents’ minds.)
I hope you enjoy this nudge. Let’s make our world a little bit smaller this week.


Since then, I’ve had a couple of opportunities to pay this forward with friends who have experienced big losses, and considering how this past year has gone, I know we’ll have many more opportunities ahead. When you next connect with someone who is hurting, I hope you’ll remember this. Ann’s small prompt was a huge gift to me.
I’m in the mood to break out my pretty wax seals (see photo), so I’m leaning toward sending a newsy letter with lots of questions I hope will prompt a reply. Here are some things I might ask:
The recipient of your call might be an elderly family member, former neighbor, or maybe a former teacher. If you can’t think of anyone and you’re a member of a religious congregation, make your first call to them, to see if they have a senior support committee. Perhaps they can give you the name of someone who needs a little extra TLC.

For many years, Thor and I frequented a small neighborhood restaurant for special occasions and spontaneous date nights. We knew every member of the staff by name, and we celebrated their promotions and career moves, in one case from wait staff to bartender to assistant manager. When the restaurant closed abruptly—due to circumstances not related to COVID—we hoped we’d be able to follow individuals to their new jobs.