$2.00 BUYS A GEM!

As I approached 40, more than two decades ago, I discovered an ad in a children’s magazine touting the benefits of corresponding with pen pals.  Remembering the joys of writing to various pen pals from around the globe as a teenager, I assumed that my 14-year old son would be equally thrilled.

Angie in Portsmouth 

I quickly whipped off a letter to a pen pal agency in Chicago.  As a postscript I added, “If you have the names of any adult pen pals, I would love to correspond with someone.”  Within a few weeks I received a reply.  In addition to supplying the name of an Italian pen pal for my son, I was forwarded an intriguing letter from a most-interesting woman named Angie.  She had initially sent a letter to a Boston newspaper, hoping to find a pen friend from the east coast.  Since this effort yielded nothing, she went one step further and fired off an inquiry to the White House, asking in typical Angie-style, “IS ANYONE THERE MR. PRESIDENT?”  Eventually someone there forwarded her letter to the Chicago pen pal agency, no doubt chuckling the whole time. She found a way to get noticed!

My new pen pal and I made an amazing match.  Angie and I corresponded several times a week, launching into the Minneapolis/Portsmouth chronicles of everyday life.  I’d always wanted an English pen pal and Angie was equally thrilled to find an American pen friend.  She often teased me about paying the agency the grand sum of $2.00 for her name.  In turn, I chuckled while gently reminding her that no one on the east coast had been remotely interested in corresponding with her.

One day, after about a year’s correspondence, Angie encouraged me to come “across the pond” for a visit.  I talked it over with my husband, took out a $1,000 loan, and booked my flight.  Many of my friends thought I’d truly gone crazy.  The questions became, “How can you possibly go and visit some stranger for two weeks?  What if she’s some weirdo?”  My reply was, “I know her well.  Letters tell you a lot about a person.”  And we’d written volumes.

Angie leading the way on the Isle of Wight

One spring afternoon in 1988 I boarded my flight to London.  When my plane landed nine hours later, I wondered if I’d acted impulsively.  I was scared stiff.  Did I really have to go through those passenger doors?  What had I done?  A moment later, glancing through the window, I spotted a woman jumping madly up and down.  She was holding a huge welcoming sign.  Knowing it was Angie, I maneuvered my way past the crowd.  Angie took off running, arms outstretched to give me a long awaited hug.  We both started laughing, recognizing what oddball adventurers we must be.  We understood it already, even if others didn’t.  On the way to her Portsmouth home I was more reserved than Angie had expected. I think her husband Nick must have been relieved. Angie was even more lively and boisterous than I’d imagined.  Through the years, we’ve forged a unique and lasting friendship—now 25 years. We’ve visited one another on various occasions and can’t imagine life without one another’s perspective.  We’ve seen sights and met people we never could have imagined.  There have been disagreements, as with any friendship, but in the end nothing comes close to matching this unusual and unexpected pen pal connection of a lifetime.