Spanish Snails

Anyone that knows my Nan knows that she’s pretty darn special; anyone that really knows Logan knows that she’s pretty darn special to me.

Since I began college, she’s sent me a letter every week. Every week. It’s a routine now. I check the mailbox either Thursday or Friday, sifting through the letters, in search of that beautiful Sally M. Doney cursive.

The snail mail didn’t stop when I traveled to Spain. Oh, no. That’d be so unlike my Nan! Those snails crossed the Atlantic. Once a week, I came home to find a letter that the little moped-riding Spanish mailman had slid underneath Peppi’s door.

This week, however, a letter appeared on the “dining room” table. There was a slight tear across the backside. I could tell that someone began to open it, yet stopped. The letter was addressed to Peppi.

Peppi entered the room. She insisted that, surely, the letter was for me. No, Peppi, this says Josefa. This one’s for you. I know my Nan, and I know her ways. Peppi lit up. She opened the mail excitedly, wild-eyed and curious. Enclosed in the neatly addressed enveloped was a Christmas card. I translated the message. ¡Feliz Navidad!

With pride, Peppi positioned the card on her mantle for all to see, as if the Hallmark original were a famous work of art.


This week, two angels crossed paths. And I’m so grateful for both of them.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s