The Letters

The other evening in my class at college, the subject of cursive handwriting came up as we were all signing in for the first night of what will ultimately be eight classes in watercolor technique.  The teacher requested that we all write carefully, so she would have the ability to correctly read our email addresses.  A simple enough request, in light of all of us doing such a small amount of handwriting these days.

Instead, we rely upon our thumbs for text messages, or the keys of a computer, to convey our thoughts.  In some ways, it seems sad when you view the beautiful handwriting of our forefathers, or the script of our mothers or lovers flourished upon sheets of lined paper now tucked away in a drawer of treasured memories.

I have a box that harbors my trove of written memories.  Faithful in its duty to hold onto the times, the people, and the stories representing my loved ones, there are many sheets of ink that build one last bridge back to their authors.  There are letters written for over sixty years of my lifetime by my dear aunt.  A rubber band wraps around a gathering of envelopes containing the words of my father, written while he was working overseas, and stamped with mysterious postal marks in Arabic.  There’s a postcard written by my mother mailed from San Francisco where my parents met.  A scrap or two of paper retains my paternal grandmother’s wise words. There are cards from my dear husband, with his trademark little squiggles.  The box also holds a few thank you cards and birthday greetings from others preserved on beautiful Hallmark cards-their sentiments too precious to throw away.  There are even photos tucked into a few. 

Each time I take a few moments to peruse through these treasures, the memories and a vision of that special person in my life flood back into my consciousness.  I visit with them again in my mind.  Whether they still tread somewhere upon this earth, or wait for me to join them in the next life, their handwriting makes them real and close to me, because they created each stroke of the ink upon the paper.  Their hand held the pen that made the mark that preserves through each word their thoughts.  And that is what is so precious to me.

I wonder sometimes how long the words of a text or email, or even a blog will last?  When a computer dies, or the words are “erased” or “deleted”, does the recipient lose the eternal connection those words yielded to the person who wrote them?  Occasionally, I print out these electronic words that convey the dearest of meanings, place them in a three-ring binder, and refer back to them at times.  While the meaning is conveyed, the physical creation of the words in ink is missing, and so is the personal connection.

Sentimental or not, I vote for the pen and its ink on paper.  I vote for each stroke the pen makes that conveys the unique style of an author’s hand.  I vote for preserving the mind, and the physical memory, of that creator through his or her written words.    

Snoqualmie Falls

They say the water is roaring over Snoqualmie Falls right now.  I am certain it is a sight to see.  We made a trip there with my brother and his wife last spring.  It is tempting to take another drive down, especially when there is a break in the weather.  Last time we went, it was raining and foggy at the falls.  Just east of Seattle, the falls have attracted people since Europeans came to this area, and before that the people who have populated the Pacific Northwest for hundreds of years.

The falls were seen as a source of power by both groups.  Even today the falls are used to generate electric power for a portion of Seattle, with the history of its development documented at the site by several explanatory signs and displays.  Harkening back to the mystery and mystical attributes Native Americans have bestowed upon the site, many couples find marrying here is a desirable goal.  There is a restaurant and deck at the precipice of the falls that yield a spectacular site for wedding vows, or a magnificent breakfast venue.  The food is delicious, and the serving sizes are beyond even the most massive of appetites.  The adjacent lodge located here is spectacular with a glorious gift shop where anyone can find a unique treasure.  All of these attributes give meaning to making another road trip there.

For the brave of heart there is a trail leading down to the bottom of the falls.  For those of us inclined to make that trip less stimulating, there is also a road, with a convenient parking lot at the bottom, which winds down from the lodge.  The draw of roaring water is addictive and I am willing to bet a million “selfies” have been taken here.  That’s good.  There’s nothing more uplifting than viewing a crowd of happy, awestruck people reviewing one of the multitude of natural phenomena Washington has to offer.  

 

The Finishing

For 37 years, I have carried around two embroidery projects.  Begun, but never finished; reasonably well done, but incomplete.  Every move, every settling-in, they found a waiting place within my craft projects, on a shelf full of good intentions.  Patiently, they waited for the moment that I would say, “Enough is enough, time is now of full measure.”  This past week in just two nights, the final details of both were completed as the backdrop to an evening’s television entertainment.

Several such projects have taken up a finality this winter season.  Like cleaning out closets, by unburdening myself of “things waiting”—I have swept away several half-finished creations from my mind.  In the process, I have gained both a satisfaction, and a clearing of my plate for additional tasks I want to accomplish within my creative world.  It is as if I am purging the cobwebs wrapped around my desires to create, while lifting the restraints of indecision, and throwing off the cloak of insecurity that hold me back from being my complete self in the process.

Like a bird testing new feathers, I am leaping into my future with wings spread wide.  No fear greats this effort.  No self-imposed judgement of the result, nor a question of the destination to which these new motions can take me.  Just a musing of what is around the next corner.  I surmise this has evolved from the vast and deep satisfaction I currently find in life.  Thus, now is the time for things to find their full circle from conception to completion.

As for the two embroidery projects, one was intended for a very dear friend.  It says, “Friends are Flowers in the Garden of Life” and I will give it to her in April on her birthday with the story of its lengthy creation.  I will tell her of its five journeys across the country from Florida to Washington, on to Arizona, then back to Florida and finally here to Washington, before its completion.  It will make one last journey across the country to Florida, where it began when we were neighbors.  I will tell her that every time I ran across it in my crafts, I thought of her and the long, dear friendship we’ve shared. 

The other I will keep for myself as a reminder that all things have a finishing.  It will remind me that whatever I start, deserves to be completed, no matter how long it takes—because it is a part of me, and who I am.