Once upon a time, somewhere between having 1 child and 2 children, I was a phone talker.  I called friends.  I kept up with what was going on in their daily(well, maybe weekly) lives.  I was connected to lots of people, most of whom lived far away from me.

Once upon a time, somewhere between having 2 children and 3 children, I was a note writer.  I might not have time to call and chat, but late at night when the house was calm and quiet, I’d pull out my favorite pen, my box of cards and stationary, my silk-fabric address book and some stamps.

Once upon a time, sometime after having 3 children I lost my pen.

And my mojo.

My “note box” runs over with beautiful stationary that calls my name, but I look over at the pink-striped and paisley box and become overwhelmed.  I think about all the people that I want to write to, all the friends I’ve slowly but surely drifted away from.  The people who have touched my life in so many ways, some who have had an integral part of shaping who I am today.

I want them to know that I think of them, and I pray for them.  But I just don’t know where to start.

I think I’ll start by buying a new pen.