When my mother passed away in 1998, I faced the chore of cleaning out my parents' home of 35 years. A simple 3BR, 2BA ranch in Frankfort, Kentucky (pop. 24K) where I grew up with my older brother from the time I was 8, until college.
My mother was a keeper; I, by most accounts, am a tosser. She was sentimental; I hardly remember my closest friend's birthday. No suprise then that she had kept every letter, holiday greeting card, birth announcement, wedding invitation, scribbled note , etc. she had ever received. I started sorting them in piles taking time to read a few and pause for a moment, trying to recall what it must have felt like to receive this precious announcement or letter in the mail.
I stopped counting at 8,224.
No one writes letters any more and it's a shame. Part of history is being lost as we peck on the keyboard and push "send" in broken English and snippets of chatter than can barely be deciphered. I miss letters. I miss getting them and writing them.
This blog, "Love, Gwen" is simply a place to write letters to people I know and care about and people I cross paths with who will probably never know they were on my mind. I know I should get out pen and paper. But sometimes, as a writer, what comes to my mind comes more vividly if my fingers are moving quickly. I will save my penmanship for my journals.
Love,
Gwen
No comments:
Post a Comment