I come from a letter-writing, pen-to-paper, typewriter-tapping family. I seem to have inherited both the need to express myself as well as all the lovely… and sometimes incriminating …evidence of those expressions.
A plethora of love notes, poems, birthday cards, anniversary cards, and
letters,
letters,
letters,
to, from, and about various members of my family… all preserved and overflowing in boxes.
BOXES!
But oh, what treasures they are.
Back in the day I could put pen to paper and write beautiful cursive. My penmanship was lovely and skillfully looped, with flowing connecting letters.
Recalling those penmanship workbooks we used to do in school – the tops of my lower-case letters would gently kiss the dotted midline of those double-spaced sheets. I took great pride in my neatly written composition books, with erasures and smears kept to a minimum.
Over time, my writing style fluctuated; reflecting my stages of maturity.
During my pre-teen years, my pack of girlfriends adopted a style of writing extreme in its perfectly rounded, rather large lettering. There were notes passed in class and profound friendship letters handwritten to one another. Looking back at them now, those images look so innocent and giddy; they make me smile, the authors immediately recognizable.
I even tried out the circle above the letter ‘i’, bubble letters, shaded letters, a version of calligraphy, and writing my name entirely in lower case. I wrote the names of boys I had crushes on and famous singers I longed for; all adorned with curlicues and doodles. (As for those boys… you can check out my diary diary entries -> here.
I remember noticing that both my parents sort of scribbled their signatures, and I thought that was representative of what a grown-up version should look like. So, I tried to ‘write older’ by adopting a more casual attack of the pen, testing out degrees of slant, and size of font.
Although very different in artistic execution, my mom and dad gave each other loving notes. Where my mom searched for the perfect card or glued her written thoughts onto a decorative background, my dad wrote his on notebook paper or whatever scrap was within reach.
Beyond the letters and cards offered between the three of us expounding on our familial love for one another, there were plenty of apologetic notes from me… left to be discovered the ‘day after’.
My uncle was a reporter and editor for the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. He served, in his own words, as “a copy editor, reporter, three-dot gossip columnist, book reviewer, second-string drama reviewer, news editor and assistant editor of the editorial page.”
I have letters he’s written to me, to my children and the most wonderful letters he wrote to his mother – my Nonnie. From the time he left home as a young man and traveled the world as a reporter and then setting roots down in Honolulu he typed and sent a weekly letter informing her of everything that had transpired in-between.
Although more of the typewriter-tapping sort, those correspondences, with typos and cross-outs, and handwritten revisions were always signed off in pen. And, yes, many are in my possession.
While the art of handwriting is visually appealing, it’s the sentiment behind the squiggle that touches me:
~ A birthday card from my grandma, written with her signature green-inked fountain pen; her fine taste evident in the elegant script.
~ My dad’s “xoxoxoxox to infinity’; the grand finale to his penned cards and letters.
~ Numerous cards filled with love, advice, and encouragement from my mom.
~ Both my daughters’ initial attempts at writing their names, full of charming misspellings, along with the cards and letters filled with affectionate prose.
~ My husband’s lovey-dovey notes to me, written in his barely decipherable scribble, filled with humor and great affection.
~ My journals expressing gratitude, angst, and interesting perspectives.
~ My diary where I lied about boys. 😬
A page bursting with handwritten thoughts or a card signed with abundant love fills me with a visceral delight, longing, and warmth. It’s history making its permanent mark – leaving an indelible imprint on our hearts, minds, and souls.
~ featured image via Pinterest