I got a letter today. In an envelope. With three nice stamps (not all the same). Enclosing an article cut out of a newspaper. And a post-it note with a handwritten message.

When was the last time that happened to you? It made me feel good.

I’m thinking that two babies lost their mommies today. They’ll never remember their mothers, never remember their smiles, their hugs, their pride. Because of the evil that people are capable of perpetrating upon others; because of the wickedness that a culture can cultivate and nurture and praise; because some “teachers” have the power to teach their students to dehumanize others.

Every time we demean, disrespect, disallow, dehumanize, we risk creating the monster of evil.

The whole question of using a married name versus retaining one’s “maiden” name is really interesting. There are so many levels of practical and political and emotional and interpretational meaning to a name that there may be no way to disentangle them from one another. The classic “practical” reason for retaining a maiden name would be career recognition: making yourself easy to find, and building on previous reputation, rather than starting over with a new name.

I’ve noticed that the “practical” reason has widened its net… if you want to be found by old friends on Facebook or any other social networking site (or via a Google search, for that matter), you can’t be found if the searcher doesn’t even know your name. Which provides a new incentive for retaining your maiden name, even if only for your online identity.

Identity, indeed. Quite literally.

It will be interesting to watch and to see if this apolitical influence has greater ramifications or impact than simply seeing two last names in social network profiles. Will there be a change in how women perceive their identities as conjoined or distinct from their husbands’? Will there be an increase or decrease in feminist affiliations? In respect for women and their identities as such?

Or will it be another meaningless blip in electronic evolution, made insignificant by progress in tracking and maintaining contacts and relationships online?

Noted last night in real time on my Blackberry

Sitting inside the plate glass window of a cafe. Two men come in, one younger, maybe 25, and one older, about 45. They order coffee (”Latte?” “What do you mean latte? I want real coffee”) and take it to an outdoor table to drink.

20 minutes later

Two police officers, long guns slung over their shoulders, approach them. Subconsciously, I assume they know each other, this policeman and this older member of the coffee drinkers, and are having a chat.

Eventually, my eye is caught by the body language being projected through the storefront window beside which I sit. They are standing there too long, they are not smiling. The men at the table grow more serious. Another man is waved forward; he is accusing them of something. The police ask for an explanation. The two at the table are shaking their heads, making controlled little hand gestures; they are denying something. They are amused, then taken aback, then angry. The third man is drawn aside by the tall policeman. He is wearing a red hard hat, and lights up a cigarette. The younger man keeps talking to the policewoman, pointing at his cup of coffee emphatically. He seems to be saying that he has been here, drinking coffee, the whole time. He gets more agitated. The older man (his father? No — the relationship doesn’t fit. Maybe an uncle?) keeps trying to hold him back, calm him down. He gets up yelling. The policeman (and he is really big) starts to close in tighter. He’s in the young man’s personal space. He exudes menace. He’s got out handcuffs now. They walk the young man away, but he’s getting worked up again. He’s offended and angry. He’s wrestled to the ground, on his knees, his head pressed down low, handcuffed, hoisted back to his feet. The uncle (?) stands right next to them, looking helpless, and afraid to interfere any more.

Without hearing a word, I admit, I don’t think the police needed to be so aggressive. The young guy was so obviously upset, but also not about to jump on anyone. It was almost as if they were looking for him to get angry enough to justify physical restraint tactics. My sense is that if they had asked him to come with them for questioning, he would have.

Who were these people? The accuser in the red hard hat, still quietly smoking his cigarette? The slight policewoman, ducking behind her partner? The religious and supportive but impotent uncle? The open-looking young man with contradictory clothing? The intimidating officer?

What are their stories? What chapter are they writing at this moment?

30 minutes later

Sequel: The “uncle” just came back… to pay for the two cups of coffee. Mi keAmcha Yisrael. His honesty inspires. Perhaps they are at the police station just two blocks away?

Was he trying to help out his young friend without realizing what he was up to? Was he in the dark completely — maybe the young man was in a hit-and-run on his way over? Was the whole thing a mistake? I’ll never know.

I watch him walk away in the rain.

The picture? Their table, as they left it. Never did get a chance to finish the coffee. 

If you don’t pick up when I call, please call me back. And don’t tell me why you didn’t pick up. It’s perfectly legitimate for you not to interrupt what you’re doing every time I ring, but the odds are good that I’ll just feel offended that [fill in reason here] was more important to you than I was. So, just be classy, call back when you can, acknowledge that you saw that I called, and let’s get on with things.

[This is why I so prefer email and SMS to phone calls most of the time. Ah, the perils of synchronous communication.]