#10daysofmom — Day 4
In 1960, my mother had four children to keep her busy, and we did. She still made time to write to friends. Here is a Christmas note from that year.
We’re all fine — but these 4 keep me hopping. Sally’s a very happy baby but she’s learning fast how to play in toilet + pull books + things off shelves. Stewie’s taking German lessons + I’m learning it slowly. Donabeth takes Ballet lessons + just lives for her lessons. Peter remains happy but is into everything. We’d love to have you come visit us. Merry Christmas + Happy New Year.
My mother’s nickname was Hoppy. I wonder if she is referring to that when she says we keep her hopping.
My mother used to hand-write her Christmas letters. Hand. Write. In her beautiful cursive.
Her friend, Ilse, at some point gave a pile of these old Christmas letters back — and they are treasures, records of days long gone, logged in blue pen on the back of a Christmas card that always showed a picture of her growing family.
At Laity Lodge in 2014, we were having an informal discussion about I-don’t-know-what when one of the women there spoke of handwriting cards and letters to friends. She said how meaningful it was to receive a handwritten note. She said something like, “Whenever I receive a handwritten note I feel so special because someone took the time to pick up a pen and write to me, and then put it in an envelope and write my name and address, and put a stamp on it, and mail it to me. They gave me the gift of their time and I can hold it in my hand.”
I guess writing an email and clicking “send” isn’t quite the same.
My mother wrote a lot of letters. It was how they communicated fifty years ago. And she was good at it.
I can still learn from her.