Thursday, September 20, 2012


I rarely read an entire roll of comments on a blog, but I did last night. Tongue in Cheek is a favorite, and the post in reference was all about antique French letters that Corey rescued. She's hosting a give-away, and while I cannot read French, I wanted one to give away. The handwriting on the old letters is absolutely beautiful. People knew how to write back then. Everyone practiced penmanship and had similar styles of writing.

Recently, I came across the last letter my sister wrote to me. You know I cried. Mina is the one family member who wrote to me when I lived as far away as Colorado, and close enough to Dallas that an e-mail, a text message, or a phone call was the easiest way to communicate. We texted just hours before she was eased into a coma from which she never recovered, in an attempt to save her life. Who knew the letter written in pencil would be her last?

Some of the comments in response to Corey's post were touching reminders of how important letters are.  I love how honest people are when they can write as anonymously. Reading how letters are treasured, longed-for, and enjoyed, rekindled something inside me that I believed had died. Is the ending simply being drawn out? Maybe it's slowly dying, and the comments only came close to resuscitating what is destined to end? I don't know, but for now, I don't feel as emotionally flat-lined any more. So, just in case, I  bought new stamps and stationery. I dug out a pen I haven't used in a very long time. Funny how it seems to match the stamps I bought just yesterday. Signs of life?

New matches to match? 

I bought a new tin of wax for seals. Lack of care and flagging interest shows in the specks left from burnt match heads stored for some still unknown reason. Handle with care? Irony, surely. Unintended irony--pure and simple. I wonder why I can't find my precious pens, paper, inks, goodies, postage and inspiration? I boxed everything and put the boxes somewhere. Now I have forgotten where. Forgive me for the pitiful postage on recent letters. I forgot to ask for international stamps. 

I used this little stamp for the first time last night. It seals the envelope that contains photographs for my mother. She wanted to see the gift JC built especially for me. Four photos and one sheet of stationery later, and I had a little letter. In all my letter-writing, I never used a wax seal for her before. My mom gets a kick out of my Berds and she loves letters. She's not good at writing in return though. No matter. I owe her a lot for letting me watch her write with a fountain pen when I was too young to write. Mama always wrote to her family when we lived far away. I learned from watching her. In essence, hers was the spark that ignited my passion.

I found my silver quill pen necklace. I bought it years ago, back when IRC or e-mail was the way to communicate. Can you believe it came from Hallmark? I think. The tip is actually sharpened to a nice writing point. Such a reminder of my love for calligraphy and letters.

(to be continued.


  1. Replies
    1. The story of the Phoenix has always intrigued me. Thanks for giving me a new take on all this.

  2. I do hope that you can fan the coals and start writing again. You have a lot to offer in insight and humor :) I know what you mean about thinking something inside may have died... I am there myself. I want to write, I carry my writing bag around with me, but I just stare at it, blank inside... I am grieving a different kind of loss but I thing the end result is the same. I have nothing to say that does not drip with my inner struggles... who want to hear that, right? Anyway, I know that those who care about you would love to hear from you...whether by letter or blog! I am glad to see you back on the web! Hugs!!

    1. Hey elle. I try. You described what it's like. You know exactly what's happening. Despite trying to push through, grief will have it's way. This is one life lesson I could do without. After two great days in a row, the punch came when I watched the Lakers and the Mavericks play, and it hit me: Mina and I will never text each other about our teams again. Another anniversary. Our first Thanksgiving without me walking her through that dang turkey will hurt but . . .

      Yes, you do know. I know people don't want to hear about my grief, so I say nothing-write nothing. It's funny, but I still visit two blogs where the owners passed on. I was there for the first year anniversary of their passing; I signed the memorial book. How could two women simply disappear and people not miss them? One blogger's daughter left the blog intact. A month later her aunt passed on. I followed her blog too, so that's three online deaths I dealt with. Oh, heck! Why don't I just write to you? :) Thank you. Talk with you soon. Be well.