Wednesday, September 21, 2016

What did I learn while teaching Sunday school, by Tuesday...

   It does seem that the software hates me, it didn't even save the three paragraphs I had written when my finger bumped one of the marvelous fast keys on the more better super sexy keyboard. I went away to a glass of warm milk, and a few solid hours of sleep.


   So teaching on Sunday the subject got around to cursive, and all the children tell me that they all write cursive which I thought was fine. Then we went into when they use it, and I demonstrated my signature. Then I attempted to write a sentence, to see if I still could and found it painfully slow...
do you remember that cursive was a faster smoother way to place in ink, words and ideas upon paper?  Not without use it isn't.

  So I started looking for some proper paper to send a hand written letter off to Juan Williams of The Five.  One would think I could just email, but really, does anyone not against Hillary save emails from strangers?  As I wandered the little storage areas of my oldest desk, I found a file folder full of print outs from 1996 through about 2001, not everything sent through my computer, but the favorites and best and the last evidence I have of doing something besides checking in on Facebook. Even pre blogging period stuff.

   As I read through the mail, some from my sisters, mother and me, I noticed real people and emotions and cares and support and stuff that is so different from today. The first thing I noticed the format was of the weekly letters we wrote for snail mail. And that as my list of people to be bothered by my missives grew the receiver addresses grew ponderous - pretty vain to think that many would like to receive my thoughts. I had to hand write my aunt, like I had my parents, until they all got computers. But we didn't change the format, care nor the content as we reached out.  But then maybe we had been weeks or months between messages in the days of boat and rail delivery of mail. One set of my grand parents lived and worked in South America. Boat mail for years and years.

   Very rich, and since my mother is in Heaven the memory even better.  How would that be to one day have my great grand children read and understand more about how she felt about the time after my father past away? So I watched a Chinese movie, titled Home Coming, subtitled just for me. The plot was of the father turned in by his daughter to the authorities - yes, that did happen. He was found guilty and sent to the Northwest to re-education and work camps. While there he wrote letters to his wife, that were on any scrap of paper he could find in the dark and kept secret. Finally some many years later a letter was sent telling her that he was returning on the fifth. She would go down on the fifth and hold a sign with his name waiting, each month. When he showed up, she didn't recognize him. So he pretended to be a neighbor that would read letters from this big box full of letters. Very sad, but very powerful story.

Anyway, back to what I was writing about:

I posted on Facebook this statement:
      "Oh, that was fun, looking for some writing paper and finding a fat folder of emails from ago. Mother, sisters and my exchanges from when we still wrote like it was just the different type of writing and conversation on our loves and lives. Real treasures there for me, since life isn't the same."

reply: "We are all the poorer for the loss of intimately personal correspondence."
reply: "Too true, we pretend not to have time. It seems to be the best way to capture time and the people in their era."
reply: "Imagine if we didn't have the correspondence of our forebears. All we would have, as an understanding of their motivations is the record of their actions."
reply: " We find we may not share their fears nor their values." 

Which prompted this posting from a Fb friend:
  "To my friends, family, and loved ones: Please, write each other. Send a letter to someone you know. Talk about things that are intimately personal. Connect with one another." 

   I do need to get prepared to write that letter. Yes, there is email, telephone and all kinds of almost face to face, but if you don't put it on paper only the heartless NSA will have an idea of what was sent when... and that isn't your heart's history. 


  1. IN a letter from my aunt once, she wrote about being appalled by an old ceramic piece in the center of the dining table. Mainly, because she recognized it as a chamber pot, like the one that was under her bed for years of her childhood. But then never under any of her later family generations, but now prized as an old item, an antique.

  2. Writing an actual letter is a lost art... sigh