Handwritten Treasures

Letters are a legacy of love to the ones we leave behind.

In a short talk given in 2007, Lakshmi Pratury lamented the disappearing art of letter writing, and especially of letters written by hand.  She talks of the notes her father wrote to her when he was dying: "the paper that touched his hand is in mine, and I feel connected ..." she says.

http://www.ted.com/talks/lakshmi_pratury_on_letter_writing.html

Lakshmi concedes that email has a valid role in modern life, but hopes that letter writing will never be completely replaced by electronic communication.  She values things with a personal touch, such as the journal her father wrote for and about her, books that have been autographed by their authors, and heartfelt personal letters.  I couldn't agree more!


I love the variety of handwriting in my collection of letters.  My friend Amy Bodian showed her zest for life in her exuberant penmanship and decorative borders.

I still possess the hand-painted tapestry she refers to in this letter, "for prayers or whispering cares."   I keep it on my bedside table, a tangible memory of my dear friend.  More about Amy (J.T.) Bodian in tomorrow's post!





Letters from my Papa, my mother's father Joseph Rogovoy, show the style of cursive writing that my grandparents and parents learned in school - looping, connected letters at a serious slant.  Such penmanship seems undervalued in a world where its use is rarely required any more.

Although my dad almost always typed his letters to me, he signed them by hand - with a confident "Dad" that somehow evokes his entire dimpled grin.


My late husband Emmett Chase made great use of email to send me dozens of poems and messages, and I treasure those communications from our courting days.  But Emmett was also fond of handwritten cards and notes, and he gave me many during our marriage.  It's wonderful to hold in my hands a card that he chose, to read the words that he wrote.  Those simple handwritten words help sustain Emmett's support in my life.

I know there's a science to analyzing people's handwriting, and I don't profess to know a thing about it.  I find the fact that every individual has a unique way of writing fascinating, just as I find it amazing that everyone's fingerprints are unique.
Most of all, I love knowing that someone has taken up a pen, thought about me, and made their mark on the page.

Postcard to Mom

Mom and me, circa 1957

Dear Mom:

Today your cancer doctors are putting a scope down your throat to see whether the esophageal cancer has shrunk since they last looked.  After four rounds of chemotherapy and weeks of radiation, we are all hoping for some good news.

Your strong will to live has helped you survive lung cancer for more than a decade.  Whatever they see with their scope today, they can never underestimate your determination to stick around this earth.  Keep fighting, Mom.

You recently celebrated your 79th birthday, and I found the perfect card to send to you: an old postcard depicting the New York Public Library.  We were both born in New York, and I remember visiting that venerable building with the twin stone lions out front.  We've always had such fun together, and that has never stopped.

So I'll keep it short and sweet today, and just say LYMI (love ya mean it), Mom.

Your daughter,

                   Laurie

Envelope Art

Dear Reader:

Does it seem that envelopes bearing letters have become bland and boring, subjected to dozens of rules and regulations by the postal service?

When my friends and I were in grade school in the '60s, envelopes became an extension of the letter itself, a place to scribble all kinds of wisdom and advice.

Occasionally, a friend would write, "Dear Mr. Postman, Why are you reading this when you should be delivering mail?"  A better question might be, who has time to deliver the mail when there's so much to read?

In my collection of letters, fabulously decorated envelopes are the icing on the cake, sometimes as sweet as the letters themselves.  In 1977, when these letters were mailed to me in Charlotte, NC, an artistic friend used envelopes as canvas, without fear that the postman would not deliver his epistles.

My friend Amy Bodian, who called everyone JT, often decorated both her letters and envelopes with animated figures drawn with just a few lines.

Sometimes friends just seem to get carried away with colors, or with stamps and stickers.

Whatever the inspiration, envelope art is in its own category - disposable, yes, but collectible too.  Like a phonographic record album cover, it's a hint of what's to come.  Envelope art invites us to enter and read, to engage and enjoy.  It's the cherry on top.

Do you have envelopes that you've saved because they're beautiful or intriguing or special?  Please consider sharing them with me and my readers.  Email me your favorites at lwatson(at)q.com.

Dear Old Dick

Ellie and Dick, circa 1953

My dad, Dick Watson, was quick with a quip, gifted with words and the life of the party.  An award-winning advertising copywriter, he rode his motorcycle to work in Manhattan from our home on Long Island, NY.  As his first child and only daughter, I got the best of his affection and adoration, although he was not a demonstrative man.

Dad died in 2004, in his sleep, as he always said he wanted to.  I miss his playfulness with language, referring to Stark as Stork Street, or calling every natural food store The Food Fern; the way his friends were given nicknames like The Plaid or Weird Peter.  When I was a child, he called me Snooper or Babbo with Bleach, with great affection.  I'm sure my love of words is a direct inheritance from his genes.

I was pleased to find among my letters a handful that Dad wrote to me when I was an undergraduate at Vassar College in the mid '70s.  Typed on Henderson Advertising Agency stationary, they were posted from Greenville, South Carolina to my Terrace Apartment (#30) on the Vassar campus in Poughkeepsie, NY.  Unlike his jovial in-person demeanor, his letters are straightforward and full of valuable history, like this from April 24, 1976:

Dear Laurie,

     I sent a check to Vassar last week -- so don't worry, you'll be able to graduate.  We're all looking forward to the big day -- May 16th.

    Enclosed is the check for $25 you requested -- for your final bills and expenses.  I am also enclosing a dividend check you received in the mail last week -- for 33 cents.  Don't spend it all in one place.     

     Everything at home is fine.  Papa seems to be recovering from his operation very well -- and expects to be well-enough to attend your graduation.  We went to Andy Effron's bar mitzvah last night, which was very nice.  Tonight is the party, at Perone's, which should be a lot of fun.

     We'll see you on the 16th.  Good luck on your final exams.                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

An endearing element of the letters is the inclusion of love from the cats (Tiger and Spookie) in his closure, as well as news of their doings.  I had to laugh when I read this story in a letter from Jan. 31, 1976:

The cats are both fine.  Spookie caught and ate a bird the other day, and left its remains in the garage.  Mommie wouldn't touch it -- so, after a few days, I scooped it up and threw it away.

After a few days??  Dad never was a fan of unpleasant tasks.

Grandpa Dick and Nana Ellie with Alex and Emily, 1990

But he certainly took on the role of Grandpa Dick with passion, lavishing love on his first grandchildren, my twins, Alex and Emily.  Trips to Mexico and Hawaii, excursions to Seattle and California, and a luxury cruise to Alaska became part of our shared family history, thanks to Dad's generosity.  Those travels together are precious memories.


None of us can forget Dad's gusto for life: a race car driver who gave up racing but never stopped loving fast cars; a Republican who loved Bob Dylan and rock and roll; a world traveler whose most unusual journey took him to Antarctica.  Dad's big dimpled smile was infectious, his sense of humor silly but irresistible.

I miss you, Dad.  Thanks for those letters, and everything.

The Art of the Letter

Before we had telephones and cell phone text messaging, before we had personal computers with easy access to email and live chats, letter writing was essential ~ it was how we communicated everything important in our lives to those who were somewhere other than shouting distance.  Now we disparage "snail mail" as if it were akin to the Pony Express, archaic and obsolete.  But isn't there still value in the writing of letters, and in receiving them?

To write a letter, you must think about content.  What is worth writing about?  What do you care about, and what will your reader want to know?  The very act of contemplating such things is meditative and enlightening.  Letter writing seems to take us back to simpler times, said my friend Melvin, whose wonderful letters kept me encouraged and entertained during the five weeks I spent helping Mom through chemotherapy earlier this year.

The children's book The Jolly Postman by Janet and Allan Ahlberg captures another exciting aspect of letters: the anticipation of wondering what's inside the envelope, and the fun of removing the letter from its paper sleeve.

Published by Little, Brown and Co., Boston and Toronto, 1986

The story is told through letters to assorted fairy tale characters, tucked into envelopes on each page of the book.  Thank you, Ahlbergs, for reminding children that letters are to be held in our hands.  For me, holding a letter is like reading a book, with pages that beg to be turned ~ infinitely more satisfying than an electronic device can ever be.  And a tangible letter, written or typed on paper and delivered in an envelope, can be read and reread, savored and saved. 

When composing a letter, we can play with voice ~ who we are writing to determines style.  My high school friend Amy Bodian and I had a twenty-year correspondence, and her letters were exuberant, irreverent and often written in rhyme, creating words as needed a la Dr. Seuss.  She knew that I would love that.  When she died at 38 of lung cancer (a non-smoker), she left me with a cherished collection of her creative, art-filled letters.  Here's an excerpt from one, circa 1985:

     I'd like to be a fertile luscious swamp and meadow,
     flowers and bull rushes in my shadow,
     I'd like to be full of color and sound and
     to hear the water all around me resound.
     I'd like the emptiness to fill with swampy dew
     and then I'd like to sip a Mint Julep with you.
     I hope this note has found you happy at holiday time
     in your letter you sounded sublime.
     Keep me in touch without a hush,
     let us not forsake what is always ours to take:
     eternal friendship, a glowing light
     that sets us forever apart
     from those seen as passing ships only in the night. 
     Merry Xmas, happy new year,
     & may this one be the brightest of bright.  Love,
     A.B. Sleeptight  

To A Most Amazing Mom

Dear Mom ~ 

   You inspire and astonish me every day.  Fourteen years ago you were diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, but that hasn't stopped you from developing a passion for making jewelry, stringing gorgeous combinations of beads and stones with determined creativity.  A tremor in your hands could never deter you from doing what you want to do.  Not content to hide at home with your symptoms, you've continued to dress with panache and head out to the theatre, to play canasta or Mah Jong, to shoot pool, to attend parties and to throw them yourself, saying, "I am still the same Ellie.  Why shouldn't I do all the things that I want to do?"

Mom with Steve and me, circa 1962

 Now you are fighting lung and esophageal cancer, and dealing with the nasty effects of chemotherapy.  You face each new indignity with grace and an indomitable will to survive, and your always present sense of humor.  I think back 30 years, when you helped me move cross country, from Kentucky to Oregon, driving my old Toyota through beautiful country neither of us had ever seen.  I think of all the times you've trounced me at Scrabble, creating double and triple words worth 87 points or more.  I remember all your fabulous parties, your long glass table piled with mouthwatering dishes worthy of the cover of Gourmet.

Same three characters
Simple fondue lunch, Feb. 2013

I am so grateful to have been able to spend five weeks with you earlier this year, laughing at Carol Burnett and I Love Lucy, playing pool, choosing flowers at the nursery, giggling through the language snafus of "Chinglish" at South Coast Repertory Theatre, making fun of the doctor who walks like a penguin, preparing a "simple" fondue lunch for friends, taking pictures of the sunrise, sitting beside the pool wrapped up in towels on a chilly February afternoon in San Clemente.
As you heal and regain your strength, I'm excited at the possibility that you might move to Portland.  With two of your children and two grandchildren here, you would always have someone nearby to cavort with.
I love you, Mom - keep being the fighter that you are.
Your daughter,
                      Laurie