From the Archive – December 2025

In the old house in New York (built in 1860), there was a second front door we never used. 
A previous owner had nailed it shut, likely to keep out the wind. Its doorknob made of brass darkened by time, and a keyhole—the movie kind you can look through to the other side—with a skeleton key that still turns and moves the inner mechanism of the lock. I like to imagine it still works, though that will remain one of life’s unanswered questions. (If you’ve heard me mention this doorknob before, there’s more to the story now.)

The doorknob was the one piece of the house that tethered me most to its 150-year past. 

I thought of the early owners who went out that door to sit a spell on the small porch, perhaps to watch a sunset or the slow clip-clop traffic of carriages and horses. Maybe they rested and smoked a pipe or sipped lemonade, perhaps whiskey. Snapped bushels of beans. Made a fiddle sing out into the foothills of the Catskills. Inhaled the scent of lilacs in May. Mended a shirt. Fussed, fretted, laughed. 

I touched the doorknob almost every time I walked through that room. 

It belonged to the house, no question. But out in the barn, there was a stack of doors that had been replaced by others in the house over the years. And one of those doors held a porcelain doorknob that was too tempting to leave behind. So, before putting the house on the market, we brought that doorknob with us to the new house in South Carolina and installed it on a closet door where we see it every day. And now? At least once a day, I run my hand over that doorknob. A piece of a house that sheltered us for four years, sheltered others for a century and a half, and will do the same for the new owners.

A few months ago, I wrote a line: “A letter is a conversation that travels through time.” It felt perfect for creating a custom ribbon just for you. I thought maybe you could use it to tie around a bundle of letters you treasure and want to keep safe. Or wrap a small gift with it, tie it in your hair, even cut it into three bookmarks to share with friends. Through the years, I hope you find ways to use it over and over again.

And so, the conversation will continue... and make time travelers of us all. 

During this season of holidays, I want you to know how grateful I am that you’re here in this circle of kindred souls who love words, art, letters, and beautiful mail. It means the world to me. Wishing the happiest of holidays to you and all the ones you hold dear.