This One Isn’t Handwritten

Tuesday, March 31, 2026

Dear Slicers,

Thank you for the 31 day writing adventure. I appreciate you for showing up every day and writing with me, taking me into your world, and showing me how I can, we, can still do this. Each year I believe it will get easier.

It doesn’t.

What it does, is bring us together to share a bit of ourselves in this big, often perplexing world. Perhaps it isn’t the world that’s perplexing, but the human behaviors that make it so. The world holds us in it. We can choose to make it spin one way or another.

I began year seven with a handwritten Sunday letter, inspired by The Correspondent: A Novel by Virginia Evans. Know what? It feels odd not to write this letter on paper. I suppose the analog life is pulling me back, a little at a time. And that is a good, good, thing.

March did it’s thing and marched right over me this month. Slowing down helped. Writing every day helped. Your stories helped.

Did I read more posts this time as I planned? Nope. Since I’m practicing slowing down, I’ll continue popping in to read posts I missed along with catching up on replying to your comments.

Thank you for your ideas, book recommendations, new knowledge shared, and new connections made. If you’d like to receive a letter in the mail some time as I continue with The Sunday Letter Project, I should be able to see your email address if you comment or reach out. We can exchange addresses via email from there.

Regardless of when we meet again, on Tuesdays, a Sunday, or next March, be well.

Write well. Write often. Write much.

Sincerely,

Alice

P.S. I returned home this evening from my librarian conference with a stack of books. My next book on my TBR pile is The Shippers: A Novel, by Catherine Center. We did a little line dancing yesterday before she signed our books. That sounds like an analog and whimsical spring activity. Line dancing. I’m not good at it, but it was fun!

What are you reading?

Rush Hour

Coffee mug and water bottle go on my desk, work bag underneath. Power on my laptop, desktop, and the computer dedicated for making student ID cards. Flick on three of the five light switches. New LED lightbulbs glare like the Arctic tundra, so one gets flicked off. Power on three computers kids use to search for books. They are lined up outside, ready for me to let them in.

They know by now to wait a bit until everything is up and running and make two lines to sign in.

I quickly scan email as kids get settled in their morning chats about books, browsing their favorite sections, and swapping books that won’t make it to the book return because BFF has to have The Summer I Turned Pretty before anyone else can get it.

Subject line: Ms. S’s classes will be in the library today through 4th period

Um, no. That was yesterday. Ms. S. didn’t show up. I check my schedule. I check my calendar. I check my inbox for an email several weeks ago asking for availability. Glitch on my part. I set the wrong date.

Major glitch: I scheduled a lesson with a teacher. In the library. For today.

I email Ms. S asking if she can keep her kids in her classroom for 1st period then come down later. I send the second teacher a chat explaining my issue. Call me asap if you see this.

The line for checkouts is getting longer. I scan ID badges and books. My phone rings and I explain my mess up. “I can go to your classroom instead.”

Issue averted. Ms. S walks in, oblivious to my email as I explain myself. I gather my materials and head to the classroom.

Rush hour is an understatement. This was all in a nice, neat 30 minutes before the bell rings package.

Ghost Mall

A canceled appointment led S. and me to the mall for something she wanted (and definitely didn’t need). The only place to get it is from a store at the mall. It’s almost 11:00 and the parking lot is deserted. Did we miss something? I turn a corner and find a small group of cars parked near the front doors of an anchor store. Prime real estate back in its hey-day.

We go through Macy’s bedding department. All of the beds are dull beige with lifeless and colorless bedding. They don’t look inviting. Gone are the days of wanting to curl up in a cushy and fluffy department store bed. I bypass Christmas themed super clearance dinnerware I don’t need. Someone else can get the deal. Geoffrey the Toys R Us giraffe from the kids’ toy section grins at no one, pink Barbie boxes line shelves willing kids to take a look, but there are no kids. We pass escalators that are either broken or turned off. To save energy? Who knows. We head to the front of the store that opens to the mall.

I haven’t been here in years. I missed the mark and parked on the opposite end of where we need to go. What was once an old Borders book store is open, full of giant stuffed Pokémon and other licensed stuffed toys in the windows, but more shops are caged closed with the lights off than those brightly flashing their wares. Jewelry stores. Candles. Shoes. A boutique announcing everything must go to no one but us.

Nearby escalators we planned to take are also not operational. What’s up with the escalators? We continue on, looking for people. I relay my “when I was your age” story about how spring break brought everyone who didn’t go anywhere to the mall. Even that was a treat for those who didn’t travel. We pass the food court. Every seat is available. Chick-fil-a lines snaking around tables are gone. A pretzel place is there, but most other well-known food court spaces disappeared. Pizza. Baked potatoes. Footlong corndogs. Panda Express. All gone. A shut down movie theater around the corner doesn’t send its buttery popcorn scent luring people to catch a flick.

Finding working escalators, we descend to the first floor. Gray covers robe vendorless mall carts stationed along the center walkways. No one asks us to test lotion, no cheap silver jewelry beckons us to take a look and politely decline. A mom with two littles smiles as they sit on the Easter bunny’s lap-likely the same costume used for the past thirty years-no line here either.

“That bunny is creepy.”

Formal dresses sparkle, desperately hoping for a prom queen or quinceañera to take them out of their misery and out on the town. S. doesn’t give them a second look, but if I were choosing, it would be the long emerald green one.

We arrive at the shop S. needed to find. Is this place open? It’s hard to tell. Half the lights are off, but the space is open, so we go inside.

“We’re out of stock right now,” the lone sales clerk informs us, “but our shipments come in at noon on Thursday.” We’re the only three people in the store and she she stands behind the counter as if she’s afraid to come out, peering at us, confirming we’re real people shoppers.

Wanting to take a quick look, we walk around to another anchor store. The lights are on, sign still flashing brightly, but the glass doors are closed. All inventory has been stripped, fixtures bare, but signs still advertise manly cologne.

“Let’s get out of here. This place is sad and depressing. It has really low energy, Mom, I don’t like it.”

An empty coin operated carousel offering FUN plays an odd calliope circus tune as an animatronic Build-a-Bear waves, flanked by stuffed bears, pink Peeps, bunnies, and rabbits advertising spring.

Easter bunny sits alone, the mom and her littles long gone.

***

Today, I stepped into our version of the Jasper Mall documentary.

Midterms

Waited in line an hour and a half
small talk about
middle schoolers
bubbly volleyball girls
giggle over who knows what 
on their phones
slipping out of their slides
into their court shoes
more chats
about precincts
changes
gasping "oh no!" 
as a voter is led
to a QR code
which reveals
where her vote
will count
"all that time in line..."
an attendant
reminds everyone to make 
sure they're
in the right
place
"stand behind the blue line, please"
almost there
"three more people"
and another set of lines
"should've voted early
but it always sneaks up on me
then I wind up
voting on
election day"
I.D. is ready
verbally confirm the address
"paper"
and the printer needs a refill
one ballot is printed
for curbside
mine is next
until it isn't
printer insists it's out of paper
when it's clearly full
I want to kick it
the next printout 
*fingers crossed*
is mine
bubble in, like in school
just don't get a detention
"I only went to the principal's office once
do you know why?"
I keep bubbling
"I wrote love letters to my French teacher!"
another line?
not for me
paper ballot is a fast pass
to the feeder
grab my sticker
"thank you"
I Voted

The Last First: Flat Spidy

One of the last things I did for the first time, aside from riding a train to New York City, was making a paper doll. One of my sisters, we call her Spidy, wasn’t able to join us on this trip. Disappointed, she made a suggestion that could work.

“Maybe you can turn me into Flat Spidy!”

So we did.

Angie brought construction paper and markers. I planned to make Flat Spidy the night before departing, but it became impossible. So there I am at our Airbnb scrawling out my most second grade looking drawing of Spidy, flattened so she could join us while riding in my bag.

Join us, she did. At the train station, Danny, our funcle asked a guy named Eddie about tickets. He tinkered on a machine others were grateful he was fixing while he gave us travel tips. In Texas, we pretty much only drive everywhere. We chatted about visiting places that aren’t conducive to urban hiking and public transportation. Great guy. Once I pulled Flat Spidy out of my bag, he about lost it.

“Whaddya mean? Of course I’ll take a picture! This story just keeps getting better. I’ll even let her wear my hat.” A die-hard Deadhead, that’s exactly what he did.

Her company added an element of playfulness we didn’t expect. Taking care not to get her soggy in the rain, we missed some photo ops, but it was one of the best ways for her to be present. In the evenings, we sent updates of her travels. Next time, we hope none of us need to become flat versions of ourselves to take that sisters trip we’ve been trying to make happen.

The Last First: New York Public Library

I happened across a great little book by Irene Smit & Astrid Van Der Hulst called Know Yourself: A book of questions. Actually, I’ve purchased copies of their other books, chock full of hygge: paper crafting, letter writing stationery, mini-notebooks, book marks, postcards, sketching ideas, tips for relaxing and self care. My Amazon feed suggested it. I bought it. One night I popped it open, you know, to relax and perhaps learn more about myself. I answered the questions without writing anything down and realized these are fantastic writing prompts.

Since it’s cozy season (anywhere else but in central Texas where we’re still at 90+ temps), I’ve decided to turn down the AC and attempt to create cozy fall vibes.

It starts with Gilmore Girls. Last fall, I started watching the series for the first time. My thoughts on Gilmore Girls can be an entirely separate set of posts I’m saving for later–yeah, had I written more consistently I could’ve knocked ’em out by now…

My sister, Angie, is a die hard fall girlie, Gilmore Girls fan, and has dreamed of visiting New England in October.

“So, what’s the verdict?”-Rory

“I am an autumn.”-Richard

I am a summer. I’ll take the heat. Until it’s almost November when cool weather should be the norm. We chat about making a trip happen. Inspired by Gilmore Girls. My niece, her oldest daughter, joined us. Last week, we finished up our first trip to Connecticut and New York in all of its fall foliage glory.

We arrived on Friday, October 10th. We decided to visit New York on Saturday because we’d soon experience our first nor’easter. A guy named Eddie, who worked on a ticket machine at the train station in Milford, assured us we didn’t need to panic. Cold rain and strong wind. He gave us tips and great conversation while we waited.

The one thing I had to see was NYPL. We walked over and noticed a demonstration. Banned Books Week! I had finished out my work week leading up to this trip teaching all of our eighth graders about intellectual freedom and censorship. I asked for a picture with someone wearing one of my favorite childhood books. We chatted about my work as a librarian.

“Better yet,” she suggested, “would you like to wear it?”

How could I refuse? Bonus points for the last time I went to NYPL for the first time. I also got a library card.

When was the last time you did something for the first time? This question taps my shoulder on days I feel myself falling into the mundane. It also guides me when I-don’t-know-what-to-write-itis strikes.

Conference Prep & Tips

Not parent conferences, but TLA (Texas Library Association) Conference. It’s next week in Dallas and I already downloaded the conference app. I usually do it on the way there.

Our library services department is organized and provides a checklist of everything we need to do before, during, and after the event. This includes the appropriate forms and permissions from admin., budget codes, hotel accommodations, information regarding after hours vendor events, signing up for professional development credit, and copies of forms and suggested items to take (always take an umbrella).

In our TLA emails, there’s a thread regarding ways to prep and make the most of the conference. There are great tips. Pack sandwiches and keep them in the hotel fridge. Pack them for lunch so you don’t have to skip noon sessions. Stuff your bag with portable snacks. Take a large water bottle. Wear good walking shoes. Take a rolling crate or extra suitcase to pack books and swag (many books are gifted by publishers, plus steep discounts the last few hours in the exhibit hall). Dress in layers. Carpool. Take an Uber for a night on the town. Use a slide deck to take notes then share with colleagues.

The ideas keep flowing. I get ready to draft my response, scrolling through to make sure I’m not repeating something. It isn’t there and I begin to draft “Be sure you check the hotel amenities. Pack a swimsuit for the pool and/or hot tub…”

I stop dead in my tracks. Wait…the last few years, my TLA roommate and I have bowed out early from some events and made our way to the hot tub or heated pool. We’re usually accompanied by no one. We’ve encountered the occasional solo lap swimmer or person leaving the hot tub when we get there, but it has usually been quiet. It’s such a great way to relax after a packed schedule and being on our feet standing in long author signing lines, trekking across the exhibit hall, and making it to our sessions.

Grinning, I delete my draft. This one, I’m keeping to myself. We’re not quite ready for a bookish pool party.

Elements of #hashtag Style

This week, I’m writing in #hashtags. A #postitnote I scrawled on last week led to yesterday’s tip of the day which made me think about how we use them.

Are there #grammarrules? What would #strunkandwhite say about them? Is there a space between a hashtag phrase #likethisone or is it only attached to the #word it connects? If you need #punctuation, (like this comma next door) do you attach it or skip it? So, the boldfaced sentence I just wrote would look like this if I skip it:

If you need #punctuation (like this comma next door) do you attach it or skip it?

But now it #doesntmakesense above because I took out the comma.

Oh, hmmm, what do you do with #contractions? Do you use them or skip them as in the previous #singlesentenceparagraph or #singlesentenceparagraph?

#doesntmakesense

#doesn’tmakesense

#doesnt #make #sense

#doesn’t #make #sense

Perhaps this is a great time to understand and observe how #grammarrules are made and why they exist. Are we now the future #old #cranky people who invented these #dumbrules? Don’t even get me started on #citations…

You’ve Got (Snail) Mail!

Small town life puts a special bubble around you. We didn’t get out much as kids, except to run errands with our mom in a larger, but still small-ish town. Orthodontist appointments, groceries, Pizza Hut buffet, and if we were lucky, a visit to the music store.

Contests from cereal boxes, Columbia House subscription forms, magazine inserts for free Banana Republic catalogs, and addresses from Teen Beat to swoon-worthy heart throbs were our way to connect to the world. Except, we weren’t allowed to send any Columbia House cards, ever. Don’t you dare was warning enough. I filled out my selections and address anyway, but it never went in the mail. I’d imagine life with endless cassettes.

Any letters that were exchanged were slipped to friends between classes in that fancy 80s wrap around fold. If we sent anything, it was lost forever, but it was fun imagining winning a lifetime supply of corn flakes. Little Debbies. Willy Wonka candy.

One day, there was a surprise. I arrived home after school, dropping my backpack on a chair at the kitchen table. Everyone else gathered around the buzz of the kitchen, willing dinner to be served, hot tortillas flying off the griddle and onto a cloth dish towel to keep them warm.

“You got something in the mail,” Mom mentioned between the rolling pin sliding across the counter, flattening balls of dough.

“Me?” I looked through the stack and found something with my name on it. I didn’t request anything. Perplexed, I flip the envelope over and retrieve a letter. Brochures I ignore are stuffed in the envelope, but I place them on the table in favor of the letter.

It’s addressed to me and I start reading aloud.

“…bedwetting is not a problem you should be ashamed of…”

“BED WETTING?! I don’t wet the bed!”

“Bed wetting?” Mom asks.

I look at the brochure full of resources to rectify the problem. People of all ages…

“Where did this come from and why does it have MY NAME on it?”

I hear giggling. It gradually grows into full-blown laughter. My younger sister can’t contain herself. “It was me; I did it!”

“What did you do?” Mom asks.

“I filled out the card,” hysterical laughter.

“At the orthodontist’s office, when you had an appointment. I didn’t think they’d send anything!”

“Thanks a lot!” I scream only like a first-born annoyed by a sibling teen can scream. And then I started crying of embarrassment. Someone, somewhere, sent me mail because they think I’m a bed wetter. How humiliating.

Everyone else laughed. Mom kept making tortillas and brushed it off. “Throw it away, it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re gonna get it!”

Return

Perhaps she came home to die.

	Alice on This One Isn’t Hand…
	Alice on This One Isn’t Hand…
	Alice on Not Today
	Alice on Whimsical Spring
	Alice on Blank Canvas, Blank Page