Thank-you Notes

Yes, they're still a thing, they're lovely, and they're easy as pie.

Don’t complain in the morning
about the day’s work.
It is so wonderful
to go to trouble
for the people one loves.
—Marlene Dietrich’s Kitchen Slogan

As a child in the mid-20th century, opening holiday and birthday presents meant pulling out a notebook and painstakingly writing down the givers’ names and gifts, and then dutifully writing them thank-you notes. The amount of days that transpired between the lists and the letters increased along with the number of years I was alive, until by the time I was in my teens, that number had evaporated into a mathematical formula for Infinity: Those letters weren’t ever going to get written.

Which is a shame, because few pleasures in life surpass getting a real letter, with real handwriting, in the mail. (Full disclosure: I am an insanely adamant lover of the U.S. Postal Service and will always advocate using it. For all its troubles, tell me a better one on the planet.)

Saying “thank you” can go well beyond holiday gifts or even gift-giving. If a friend lifted you up during a blue time or a neighbor fed your cat over a long weekend away or a colleague showed up at your kid’s band concert, she’ll be pleasantly surprised when a thank-you note shows up in her mailbox.

Your letter doesn’t have to be long, and it doesn’t have to take long, either, especially if you dumb down the process with a quick, onetime action you can take right now, while you’re thinking about it, as soon as you finish reading this newsletter.

One etiquette podcaster suggests filling a box with a handful of thank-you cards, envelopes, stamps, and a pen. I have a cubby in a desk where I throw those card-envelope packets that nonprofits are always sending to entice me to donate. They are free and often quite lovely. Alongside them, or messily on top of or under them (I didn’t say you have to be neat about it), I keep stamps plus the bazillion return-address stickers that other nonprofits are always sending me. Thus, the only expenses are the stamps, about which, see above regarding my undying support for the USPS. (Bonus tip: Because my handwriting is terrible, I also tuck a few return-address labels into my wallet to use when filling out those interminable forms at the doctor’s office.)

Incidentally, I also use those free cards and envelopes to pay the few vendors in my life who still take only checks—even the IRS and other unlovables. (If you are the perfectly nice person who opens the mail at your job, wouldn’t you appreciate occasionally getting, instead of a plain 8x11 envelope, a card with colorful artwork painted by freed chimpanzees?)

OK, you’ve got your quick-action kit set up. Now. What to say?

The same New York Times article suggests a three-pronged approach. First, say thank you for what they gave you. Second, tell them how you will use it, maybe how much you appreciated the care that went into giving it. Third, circle round to say thanks again and, depending on the circumstance, maybe reference the next time you’ll see them: Thanks again, and I look forward to seeing you at our next book club meeting.

That works for me, although I think it can be even simpler. I think your top priority is to write a note that sounds like you.

Carolyn,

It was such a pleasure to find your care package on my porch when I returned from the hospital last week. You know what a rotten cook I am; I look forward to eating better than I would have if I hadn’t broken my arm. Gracias, mi amiga.

Annie

My husband’s note, however, would be considerably more formal but would, weirdly, also include a pun or clever play on words. My husband is odd that way: simultaneously formal and silly. I’d be a little offended if I received the above card from him.

One of my all-time favorite thank-you notes is from a friend to whom I gave an extra cat tree. Really, it was gonna go to her or the dump—our cats, for whatever reason, refused to use it. My friend had just inherited an adorbs kitten and, as she told me in her effusive letter, the tree fit perfectly in both the corner where it now lives and under the kitten who now occupies it. She followed up with texts of pictures of the kitten and the cat tree. There are days when remembering the sheer over-the-top extravagance of her thank-you note is, for me, the thin line between despair over life’s ultimate meaninglessness and uncomplicated, genuine joy.

Another friend who is one of those women whose hair is always perfect and whose clothing and furniture are color-coordinated sends me old-fashioned thank-you notes, even for occasions that I don’t believe call for them. I paraphrase here for the sake of her anonymity:

Annie,

It was so thoughtful of you to send the beautiful card last month. I deeply appreciated your kindness. Thank you.

She was thanking me for a sympathy card I’d sent her after her mother died. Initially, I was taken aback, a bit guilt-ridden; she didn’t have enough on her heart, not to mention horrible errands to run with funeral directors and insurance agents, without also feeling obligated to send me a card to thank me for my card?  

But then it occurred to me, and I pass this notion along for you to ponder. Possibly, the act of writing that thank-you note helped her. Helped her to grieve, move forward, put off the government forms, forget, remember.

So if you need another reason to take pen to paper and thank somebody sharing this planet with you, add this one to the list: the act not only will brighten their day—it also will brighten yours.

---

Lagniappe: Despite advocating paper over bytes, I do love digital cards from Jacqui Lawson, a site run by an artist with a fondness for dogs, pretty things, and wit. She’s been at it a long time, and I feel good about my modest annual payment, which covers unlimited cards throughout the year. Her auto-reminders also help me remember to send cards via the mail to those who don’t like email, or for whom I want to do more. (A reminder: nobody pays me to note their products; I just like ’em.)