This one I received in the mail today starts with Hebrew and ends with French.  "Oy vey" at the exasperation felt at the busy cadence of September; "moi" as a signature of intimate endearment. 

Letter writing is something I learned from my mother.   She forced us to write thank you notes and birthday notes endlessly as children, but as the repetition felt easier, I also found a love for the craft.  She told me she corresponded frequently with her own father when she moved to Boston from Minne...
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