We don't write much anymore. By "write" I mean longhand either cursive or print. I'm reminded of this every time I need to add something to a grocery list, though even that's not necessary since Alexa moved in with me. "Alexa add cheesy puffs and Mickey's Malt to my shopping list" is all that is required of me, though I have yet to figure out how to access the list when I'm actually shopping. I'll have my eight year-old grandson explain it to me when he's here next week. Until then I'll live with the usual challenge of deciphering my own illegible hand as I haphazardly navigate the supermarket like a desperate and hardly savvy Magellan.
Worse than marginally legible grocery lists is the near disappearance of real hand written letters. I'm as guilty as the next person of this sad development. My handwriting has gone from merely atrocious to downright appalling over the years. Unless it's a Christmas card, the only way you'll hear from me is via email or a text. It's, I guess, better for all of us with regard to clarity, though there is something cold and unemotional in typewritten print. Who among us doesn't love to see a handwritten letter from an old friend in the mailbox? When was the last time you received one of those? If it weren't for grocery fliers, insurance company offers, various scams and form letters from the imbeciles in Congress, my mailbox would starve to death. How did this sneak up on us? My guess is the Internet is the culprit.
My parents, both members of the Greatest Generation, had wonderful penmanship; they all did. Handwriting was an important part of the school curriculum in the first half of the last century. However, like morals, geography and history, the Palmer Method of penmanship fell by the wayside beginning in the late 1950's. To her great credit, my mom wrote a letter to me once a week from the time I left home in 1966 until dementia canceled her out in 2011. She added my wife to her weekly missives once I married and was delighted that Linda promised to return the weekly favor of a letter to make up for my sporadic updates. I have saved a great deal of this correspondence and will happily hand it over to my daughters before I tennis shoe the planet. I think they'll appreciate reading them.
In looking over some of Mom's notes I'm struck by the positive spin she put on the ordinary stuff of life. There are long paragraphs about how many loads of laundry she had done on a given day; how hot the weather was, news of her golfing--she got a hole in one in her early 70's-- and how well she did playing bridge. All of this of interest only to me and my family but I'm glad to have it for posterity in her hand.
Fishing through her letters I spied one from August of 2003 and in reading it found it resonated as she laments the hot Illinois weather. (We're expecting a high of 104 today in North Idaho.) Here's a small excerpt:
"The storms didn't come, thank heavens. It's another cloudless, hot and sticky day. I'll probably not venture out too much. Good day to be lazy and just read. Nothing HAS to be done but I'll probably call on a friend in a retirement home. I usually take her a cookie or two when I go.
I hope this has been a good week for you."
Lots of Love,
Mom
Nothing big here except the fact that she wrote it and I received the message in her hand and her letters live on for her granddaughters and maybe many more generations to enjoy. Perhaps we all should strive to pick up a pen or pencil from time to time to write a letter to a friend or relative. Maybe a diary? Life is too short and sweet for regret. Write it down. Your pen may offer future generations a look back through the window of time.
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