Our house was built in 1907 and much of it, I am happy and proud to say, has remained unchanged. Of course additions have been made in order to align with the times. One of those updates is a large mailbox affixed to the brick wall on our porch. The original receptacle for mail remains where it always was, at the bottom of our front exterior door.
My husband gave the mail slot flap a good cleaning last week, shining it up until it gleamed. When he handed it to me to look at before reinstalling, as I often do, I traced my fingers over the word LETTERS.
I wondered about all the mail that had slid under this cover, what bills and news – both good and bad – were delivered through its opening. Did a draft notice ever arrive to my home? What correspondence from friends and family had been deposited through this narrow cut in the wood?
This mail slot has seen every person who has ever visited this house, witnessed all the snow and thunderstorms. Although no longer used for its original purpose, it is now a lovely artifact of a residence constructed 118 years ago, one that special delivers letters to me each day: H-I-S-T-O-R-Y.
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