Hidden Treasure

Dear Dad,

You know how much I loved to write letters to you and mom when you were living. Well now they have these things called blogs and this one lets me write letters to someone on my mind. Today, it was you. While cleaning out some drawers, I ran across this letter you wrote me in 1989, just six months before this picture of us was taken which was just a year before you died.

Dear Gwen (6/15/89),
The mail has just arrived and I was joyfully surprised to receive a big large package, a Father's Day card and a long letter from you. I reacted like a 6 year old boy and tore into the package and there was the prettiest sport shirt I think I have ever seen . . . then I read the card and letter . . . then I just had to shed a few proud tears . . . I was just over-joyed to realize what a wonderful daughter I could personally lay claim to. . . .you are a sweet, pretty, young lady and I am so proud of you. I just wanted to put my thoughts into words because some day I will not be here to say them. Best wishes and forever be yourself. All my love, Dad

Dad, you cannot imagine how much I cherish having this letter and only regret it was buried in a chest of drawers all these years. I'll go looking for some more tomorrow.

Love,
Gwen

Heat Knocked Some Sense into Him

Dear Emery,

Congratulations on your engagement to Angela!!

I couldn't be happier for you. You first showed me a photo of her about 10 years ago when we were at a family reunion and in your customary way, had a story or two to tell about her. The two of you visited me here in DC (photo at G'town Harbor) two years ago this week and what fun we had -- just as hot now as it was then.

How you found such a beautiful woman on the inside and outside, who is as TALL as you are, fate only knows.

The two of you belong together and quite frankly, she has put up with more from you that most young women would. So consider yourself lucky, run to the alter and capture this fabulous woman before she gets away.

Love, Aunt Gwen

Can I Have Some Wine With That Whine?

Dear Marianne and Laura,

Friday nights just wouldn't be the same without gathering for "Wine and Whine" a tradition we started when I was between men, Laura's hubby was off meditating and Marianne was new in town.

Sometimes it's more whine than wine, but rarely. Usually, we're bantering (loudly at times) over iPhones versus Blackberrys, whether tanning beds are bad for your health, and if we can outlive age discrimination in the work place. We agree on very little making it much more likely we'll eat the last piece of cheesecake and still open another bottle before midnight.

Oh, that's right. We did agree to forego vajazzaling and were surprisingly all in love with "Mama Mia."

I love to cook so thank you for letting me channel Martha Stewart week-after-week. Marianne, you love to sell and buy homes (your 3rd in 3 yrs.) so thank you for hosting. Laura, you love to travel so thank you for bringing exotic gifts (last night 'holy dirt') and stories from far away places.

Maybe "Wine and Whine" would make the perfect pilot series for a TV sitcom, "Married, Single, and Divorced" a.k.a. the "Golden Girls" with political, dating, literary and social commentary on anything that crosses our mind.

Next week's topic: EPL, movie versus book.

Love,
Gwen

Strawberry Fields Forever

Dear Aunt Lila,

It's always in the middle of the summer when I start thinking about you and my summers on your farm outside Portland, TN. Visiting you was an adventure -- your home a museum of family photos and handmade lace, your corn fields as far as I could see, and your energy everywhere.

"What can I fix you to eat?" was your constant mantra.

I can still hear you now, even though most of the time you were standing with your back to me cooking over a hot stove or putting homemade biscuits in the oven. Piled high on the counter were unshucked corn, tomatoes, squash, canteloupes, and something I refused to eat called spinach.

Late in the morning, we'd go strawberry pickin' and you showed me how to spot the best - the small, plump ones that were nearly lying on the ground ripened by the summer sun. Together we made shortcake, pies, turnovers, and jam and you let me play with the dough.

I thought of you today and made a cheesecake with the help of some dry ingredients in a box and a dash of lemon like you taught me and topped it off with layers of fresh strawberries sliced and positioned to resemble a star.

"Cooking soothes the soul," you once said to me.

And I needed that today. My best friend got word she has breast cancer and I was sad. And scared. And all I could do was cook something with strawberries and this was the best I could do. Thank you for those summers; I feel the farm and your strength with me and I will share it with my friend.

Love,
Gwen

It Started with Fish Sticks

Dear Lynn,
It amazes me that such a wonderful, long-lasting friendship could originate over fish sticks but that's precisely what happened when we met in 1994 in a writing class at Georgetown University. Your first class reading was about growing up in Minnesota; mine was about what I ate for lunch.

From there we bonded immediately and sat for hours with our weekly writer's group at the Four Seasons hotel giggling over our creative writings on "big hair" and "little black dresses" and "the temptations of nuns." I don't think I've ever laughed so hard or so often.

Thank you for forging a friendship through silliness -- when does that ever happen anymore!

But it's been the more serious times we've shared that have deepened our bond -- when you came to Kentucky to help me clean out my parent's home after my mother's death, when you sat by my side in the emergency room with an irregular heartbeat and when you mentioned a lovely condo in Old Town was for sale that is my home today. I doubt what I've given to you -- a recommendation on jewelry, urging to get to the gym and the remnants of my mother's quilts -- has had anywhere near the impact on your life.

Thank you for being my friend whether we're practically living next door or many states away. That's the test of a lasting friendship and one I'm richly blessed to have.

Love,
Gwen

8,224 and counting

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