Marie Helene and the Cell Phone

A little less than 10 years ago, Trent took a trip to Europe with some friends. It was, in Trent's own words, the greatest adventure of his single life.

One day, while a ferry from Portsmouth to Cannes, Trent and his friends met Marie Helene. Marie was in her seventies at the time, and was very interested in the young Americans who had struck out to see the world for themselves. Trent and his friends did not speak much French but Marie spoke excellent English; hence, a lengthy conversation ensued as the ferry passed into France. Upon their arrival, Marie helped them find their way to Evreux. From ferry to train, a friendship was born.

Every year for the past decade, Marie and Trent have exchanged letters. She'd send a letter for Christmas or a note for his birthday; Trent always responded in kind. I saw one or two of the letters when we were dating. When we were engaged, Trent sent an invitation to Marie Helene. It was then I heard of the delightful lady who lived in France and how she had helped him find his way on a long journey.

Shortly after returning from our honeymoon, a small package arrived in the mail from France. It was a set of placemats and another lovely letter from Marie, introducing herself to me and congratulating us on our marriage. Since then, I have also been included in her letters.

Whenever we get a card from Marie Helene, Trent and I are transfixed and transmuted to another place and time. We are warmed from the tops of our heads to the tips of our toes with the love of this darling elderly Frenchwoman. We promise one another that we will make it to France to sit in her living room and enjoy a cup of tea together.

And so when I sent Christmas cards this year, I smiled as I wrote out the one for Marie Helene. I couldn't wait to hear back from her. And last Wednesday as I was beginning my daily walk with Lillian--both of us bundled in our scarves and coats and boots and gloves, just as the sun was beginning to set behind the dark wood of our giant, leafless trees--the postman came and delivered our mail. Inside my mailbox were two things: a box from AT&T and a letter from France. My heart tingled when I recognized the script. It was Marie Helene's.

I left the AT&T box sitting in the cold mailbox for a moment. It was just another dang cell phone for the one I lost 2 months ago. Last week I finally gave up on ever finding it again and ordered a replacement. Instead, I retrieved Marie Helene's letter with a smile. And as Lillian trotted down our street, stopping to stomp in the snow (and looking up momentarily to tell me, "'Nooow, 'nnooow") I read the letter.

Marie Helene's letter sent me immediately into the charming life of a woman now in her eighties. She told us, humorously, that she had begun knitting a sweater for Lillian but when our Christmas card came she saw Lillian was too big to wear it, so she was going to send it to her nephew who lived in Tuscany, where there would be no need for it since it was too warm there. She wondered if she should knit Lillian another but confessed that maybe she'd finish 10 years from now. She told us of visiting her friend, Victor, an 89 year old man who lives in Portsmouth and has almost lost his ability to walk but not his sense of humor (it was his idea that she begin now on the sweater for a 10 year old Lillian).

Utterly Delightful.

And when we came in from the cold, I set the letter and my new cell phone down on the counter, the two forms of communication stared back at me.

I like my cell phone. It's convenient and it's handy and it helps me feel safe when I drive in the dark. I like texting. I like voice mail. And Lillian likes pushing all the buttons, holding the phone to her ear and saying, "elloh, ellohhh..."

I just am never delighted by my cell phone. Not like I was delighted by Marie Helene's words. When Trent came home and read the letter his eyes sparkled with delight. "Isn't she just lovely?" he said. I heartily concurred.

I can't think of the last time I said that about a text message or a voice mail. Phones just feel so...demanding, don't they? It rings and you must answer. It beeps and you must respond. You look at it impulsively, texting or speaking a message that is effective because it's quick. Text messages aren't known for the beauty of their language nor their stunning quality of their prose.

Don't misunderstand me; I value and am grateful for the accessibility that my cell phone provides. But looking at the letter from Marie Helene, I can't help but think there is greater value in a carefully crafted, well communicated letter.

If I could choose, I would choose letters as my only correspondence.

With apologies to the cell phone.