When mail is digitized, it becomes sterile – no longer a precious handwritten card that smells like my gramma’s perfume.

It came in a red envelope, postmarked December 27, 2010. It was addressed to me at Menard Correctional Center, cell 546 in the south uppers. The return address stunned me when I read it. It came from Sacramento Street in Vallejo, California, 94590. The sender’s name was Gramma, Aimee Bell. I examined the handwriting for a long while, trying to remember if I’d ever seen it before. It did not spark…

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