The lost art of letter writing

Over the years I have been drawn to stationery, postcards and note cards.  There was a time when I wrote many letters and I waited in anticipation for return mail.  I must have started writing letters at a young age as I recently came across a note written to me from my Aunt Marie.

                                                                                    Wednesday

Dear Joan,
     I hope you are over the mumps.  I guess I never had them.  Uncle Mack and I will be home the first week of April.  You write a nice letter.  We enjoy them very much.
                                                                  Love,
                                                                  Aunt Marie

The marvelous thing about words on paper sent over the miles was that the letters could be read and reread and then saved in a box.  In my attic I have such a box of letters saved by my father from my mother.  They are a glimpse back to the late 30's and early 40's when my mother was teaching in a one room school house and their young love was starting to blossom.

Saving letters must run in the family. I received a special letter from a former teacher when I was a senior in high school.  During my junior year I had worked with other students on the 1963 Tigerite, our high school yearbook.  We had a young teacher, Pat Austin, who for the first time decided the yearbook needed to be jazzed up and we added many new style elements.

She and her husband Alan, who was our band director, decided to move to Ann Arbor after my junior year so my senior year we were left to fend for ourselves with a new advisor who knew little about how to put a yearbook together.  Mrs. Austin had named me the editor for the 1964 Tigerite, but I couldn't have managed it all without my good friend Judi Campagna who was a go getter.

When the year was over we sent a copy of the book to Mrs. Austin and her letter to me was one I treasured and kept. 

May 12, 1964

Dear Joanie -

You have now something in common with Hercules!  Triumph over overwhelming odds!  Your Tigerite is superb - and I could do cartwheels. (If I could.)  It has grace and balance - and so many "sharp" features I just don't know where to begin telling you of my reactions.

Mrs. Austin's letter was six pages long and at the end of it she wrote that she and her husband were headed to Anchorage, Alaska where Mr. Austin had gotten a job.  I never heard from her again nor knew what happened to them in Alaska.  But I kept her letter in a scrapbook and it is a reminder of my high school years.

In college there were letters home to my parents.  My mailbox in the dorm often had a return letter from my mom or from high school friends.  It was always a good day when there was a special message from someone.

Letters like my parents wrote to each other were exchanged between my husband and me before we were married.  When he traveled to Europe for a few months or when we were separated by summer jobs, we each wrote at least once a week.

When we married, my husband's mother and father lived several hours away.  I got in the habit of writing a weekly letter, usually on Sunday to recap what we had been doing during the week and later to share the activities of our two children.  My mother-in-law also sent a weekly letter.  When my father-in-law retired, he joined into the letter writing business and his were always humorous, often at my mother-in-law's expense.

Tues. 3-10-81

"Hi" you all!  This is Grandpa starting to run off at the mouth.  I have been lazy for a week now.  I did write a letter to Dootz yesterday.  When I wrote the date on this letter it remind me of Lil Kemp's birthday her birthday was on the 10th  I wonder how old she would be, my Dad would have been 102 yrs old yesterday the 9th. 

So many nosy people wonder what I am doing.  I think that is my business if I want to chase mother around the house, we hit it off real good.  Mom is a pretty nice girl even if she is going to be seventy her next birthday.  I am bugging her eating so much........

.......Sometimes I wonder how my foreman is making out with tungsten grinders, he talked to me a couple months ago he dread the thought of me retiring the last day I was there he tried three men on it and nobody liked it.  Yesterday he was going to try a 18 yr old with a broken leg.  You got to be a little polish to like it, that is where I fit in O.K. but eyes let me down.  So will close with lots of love.

Mom & Dad

In one letter my father-in-law referred to hearing that our son, who was in kindergarten at the time, was being picked on by another little boy.  Grandpa told our son not to start anything, but if he got hit he should "hit the boy in the snot locker." 

After my mother-in-law died I was told that she had kept all my letters over the years, but in some one's zeal to clean out the house, they had been thrown out.  I thought it was endearing that Mom Ramseyer had kept them all those years, but I was a bit heartsick that the history of our little family was gone in the blink of an eye.

Letters did not always bring joy  Some have been hurtful and others expressed the pain in one's life.  Recently a friend gave me a letter she found that was written by my mother to her mother Myrtle during a particularly painful time for my mom.  In the late 60's my mother became depressed.  She was admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Plainwell where she tried to get well.  Despite where mom was, her letter sounded hopeful. 

                                                                                     Thursday 7:30 a.m.

Dear Myrtle,

     We have to get up at six o'clock in the morning and have breakfast at seven.   
     When I think about what put me here I think God meant me to quit that job and it helps a lot.  I must continue thinking the same thing.
     I worry about Jerry and how he is getting along.  I think he's coming to see me today.
     There are so many people here that it is overcrowded.  Some of them go home today so it will help a little.
     It was cold yesterday and is cold again today. 
     There are so many people with such terrible problems that I'm lucky compared to them.  I've met some wonderful people too.  The nurses are all wonderful.
     Thanks for all the help you gave me while I was at home.  I hope to be back soon for good!  How's everything in Shelby?

                                                                     Love,
                                                                     Ellen

The letter my mother wrote to Myrtle was written in October of 1967.  In March of 1970 my mother's dear friend Myrtle found my mother after mom had decided she could not live anymore the way she felt.  I was glad to read this letter after so many years have passed because it shows that my mother wanted to get well.  However the hope did not last for her or our family.

Despite the content of a letter, there is something about the feel of the paper, the texture, and the written word.  Those who treasure letters are those who treasure the human spirit and the ability to communicate feelings.

Instant messaging has taken away the special feeling of going to the mailbox and finding a letter.  In desk drawers and wooden boxes I have more stationery than I can ever use, but when I travel I still look for unique writing paper to add to my collection.

I write notes and letters to my two granddaughters, Adrianna and Bella, who do not live near and sometimes to my three grandchildren, Jay, Avery and Carter who live just down the road.  My  granddaughter Adrianna has a pretty box where she keeps special things including the postcards and letters I have sent her over her eleven years.  It touches my heart to see her colorful box. However I feel that less and less personal writing will be done by hand and those special boxes filled with human emotion will be lost to future generations.  But meanwhile, sweet Adrianna is saving my words to her and that brings me great joy. 
 

Sights and Sounds of the Season

We were two little girls when my sister and I were coached by my mother to perform at her annual lodge Christmas potluck and program.  I had memorized a couple of lines to say and my sister got into a box wrapped as a present.  At the right word in my little poem, she jumped out of the box.  SURPRISE!

I'm not sure Christmas programs or concerts have changed much since the 50's.  It is the season to watch little children sing and bands and orchestras  play a variety of all the Christmas music that is out there.

In the last week we have attended five concerts.  It started out with our grandson Carter's first grade program.  All the children were dressed in their pajamas and they sang their hearts out.  The songs seemed complicated to me, but most of the children knew all the words.  Of course programs with young children can never go perfectly.  There was one little boy who was holding a stuffed animal and then he had the animal on his head.  When the music teacher saw that, she wandered over in front of him and gave him a word. 




Above: Hart first and second graders perform at their Christmas program.  Below: Close up of Carter (blond boy) and his classmates acting out their song in pajamas.   

Children's programs were a big part of my upbringing.  Christmas programs at church were very important events.  One year, when I was probably eight or nine, I was an angel and had a speaking part.  My mother made me a halo to wear.  She used some old tarnished tinsel that had been in the attic.  When we got to church the night of the program I noticed another angel also had a halo, only her halo was wrapped in bright new gold tinsel.  For a minute I felt jealous, but then remembered that I was the angel with the speaking part.

The holiday concerts we attended this season were put on by the West Michigan Symphony, the Hart Music Series and the Hart Bands.  We listened to our grandson Jay play his saxophone in the sixth grade band.  Both the high school band and the West Michigan Symphony played the yearly classic, Sleigh Ride. 


Sleigh Ride can be delightful if everyone is going at the same tempo. But if they are not....Katie bar the door.  The slapping of the reigns must be off rhythm and the neigh of the horse has to be right on cue.  I remember playing that song when I was in band and it never came off perfectly.  I imagine many band directors have their students play it just because it is a tradition.  For the audience it can be a source of amusement.  The Hart High School Band pulled it off although one of their drummers was trying to slow it down.  The symphony is expected to play it well, so no surprises there. 

Our last concert was a recital of young violin and cello players.  Our granddaughter Avery started cello lessons in the fall and the instructors who teach cello and violin put their students in front of an audience.  There were many violin solos and the youngest players performed as a group, as did the cello players.  The older violin students had memorized longer and more difficult pieces and only had a few blips.

Coming out of the church where the young string players performed was a time to look at the Christmas lights.  Since we are headed for a white Christmas, the decorations seem more intense this year and bring back memories of the Christmases of old when we always seemed to have snow.  The music adds to the beauty and children performing is the best thing of all. 

I am taking time to listen to the sounds of the season and enjoy the simple scenes. 


Scenes of the Season

 

 

Sounds of the Season

 

 

 

Music

 

Sleigh Ride - Boston Pops

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OATi34PKNPw

 

 

Carol of the Bells - Boston Pops

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VLFW1U-5uTE

 

Little Drummer Boy - Pentatonix

  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qJ_MGWio-vc

 

 

Photos 3, 5 & 12 taken by Hack Ramseyer

 

By the Flickering Firelight

After my mother died in 1970, I became pregnant with our first child.  It was a year of sadness and happiness and changes all around.  We moved from Lansing to Shelby to live a year with my father in order to help him through his grief. Even before my mother died we had plans to build a house of our own in the countryside outside of Hart.  Living for a time in my childhood home was a transition between the city teaching jobs we were leaving and the home and teaching jobs we would have in the beautiful area where I grew up. 

My husband was hired in Fremont to teach German and history and I was hoping to find a teaching job in the area after having a baby and taking a year off.  Even though we did not pay rent, it was a difficult year financially with only one teacher's salary.  In order to supplement our income I subbed at Shelby.

After having our daughter Aimee in December, I returned to subbing.  I was desperate to find someone to take care of our baby and when I called my Aunt Margie she came to my rescue.  I don't remember her ever turning me down.  Her husband, my Uncle Tom, was my mother's brother and he was a larger than life personality.  I loved both of them immensely.

The thing I remember most about taking Aimee to their home, often before the light of day, was the ambiance.  My Uncle Tom would be sitting in a comfortable chair by a roaring fire.  I loved the feeling of that fire and the warmth that always greeted me when I entered that house.  I can still visualize my Uncle Tom and his boisterous way of showing me that it was no problem to take care of our baby.

A fire in a fireplace has always been intriguing to me.  It is mesmerizing to watch the color of the flames and hear the crackle of the burning wood. Throughout my life fire has been a part of things I remember so fondly.

When I was in college I worked one summer at a resort, Lakeside Inn on White Lake outside of Whitehall.  My brother had gotten married that summer and he and his wife lived close by.  My sister-in-law had worked at Lakeside Inn during college and helped me get the job.  Some evenings a fire would be built close to the water and my brother would come and play his guitar for the guests.  Both he and I loved to sing and my brother, the folk music and the firelight are etched in my mind as a wonderful time in my life.

There were other fires on other beaches along Lake Michigan that bring back memories including fires we built to cook dinner on when we owned a lot on Lake Michigan.  I would wrap meat, potatoes and vegetables in tin foil and they would cook while we swam.  Our two children and often their cousins would frolic in the waves and be starving by the time everything was cooked.

There is a fire now on July 4th at my son's house where the grandchildren roast marshmallows and shove chocolate and their marshmallows into graham crackers.  S'mores have been around a long time and watching the grandchildren eat them with relish takes me back.

I gravitate to fire anywhere I am.  At Glacier National Park we stayed in a lodge next to Lake McDonald. It was a cool night and there was a fire in a huge stone fireplace in the lodge's great room that made me linger.  At Caberfae when the family goes skiing there is a stone fireplace that is a magnet for everyone coming in off the slopes.  I always try to get a chair right in front.

Last Christmas I received a gift that makes my love of fires so much easier.  I can still build a fire in our fireplace in our family room, but my husband installed a gas unit in our living room fireplace.  Now with a press of a button I can see the flames.  It isn't quite the same as wood crackling and the sweet smell of wood smoke, but it satisfies my need to feel both the warmth physically and mentally.

I'm not sure why I need fire in my life, but I believe eons ago, when humans discovered flames, there was an instant change in their lives.  The gloom of a tough life must have dissipated a little and a small joy probably glimmered in their eyes.  I wish the warmth and beauty of flickering flames could be a part of every one's life.  It is the season when firelight can do wonders to help us through the long dark nights. 

 

 

 

Mozart at Midnight

The handbill on the large wooden doors of St. Stephen's Cathedral in Vienna announced a concert of Mozart's Requiem for December 4 at midnight.  The year was 2007 and we were in Vienna for the Christmas markets.

"It might be too late at night for us," my husband said.

"I'm going," I remarked.  "If you don't want to go, I think I can get back down here by myself."

"Why is the concert starting so late?" my husband inquired at the ticket office inside the church.  We learned the Requiem was performed at midnight on December 4 in order to end at the approximate time Mozart died on December 5.  We were happy there were still tickets available as we both realized it would be a once in a lifetime concert.

The night of the concert was cold as we walked toward St. Stephen's.  There was a light show on the cathedral and the Christmas lights were spectacular hanging like giant chandeliers in an area called the Graben off St. Stephen's
Platz. There were also tiny lights that cascaded like waterfalls on the street, the Kohlmarkt. On another side street huge red lights in the form of globes hung in the middle of the street. There were also panels of red lights with a white design and strobe lights.

We stood in line in front of the cathedral as we couldn't get in until 11:30.  Once we took our seats close to the back of the church, we watched young people look for empty seats closer to the orchestra and singers and move up from the seats for which they had tickets.  We didn't feel like being so daring.

As scheduled, the concert began at midnight.  The Requiem is a powerful piece of music, both sad and beautiful.  I was very familiar with the music because I had showed the movie Amadeus to my senior English classes several years in a row. 

St. Stephen's is a huge cathedral and there were many lights above the center aisle.  Along the side of the church smaller lights glowed like candle light.  As the Requiem was played, at different intervals, one light after another above the center aisle was turned off until at the end one light remained.  With the last note, it too was extinguished.

In the silence, priests came in and rang little bells and then walked down the main aisle ringing them before they walked off to the side and were silent.  Death, the end, the sadness for those who are left behind and in Mozart's case, the music that would no longer be composed.  The stillness was deafening.  It was an experience like no other.

We came out into the cold night and because the public transportation was closed down, we walked the half hour back to our hotel at two in the morning.  I could see the stars.  I glanced up at a building and saw through a high window two chandeliers twinkling in a large room.  We walked through a Christmas market with the shutters closed on the many booths.  We walked up Maria Hilferstrasse, the main shopping street, until we got to the side street that led to our hotel. 

There are events in life that can stop one's breath for a second because of the beauty.  Mozart at midnight was such a moment. 

 

 

 

The Yin and Yang of November

There have been a lot of words in my head since the first of this month concerning what I wanted to say about November.  However as the days went by, my thoughts changed from Pollyanna-ish to dark and back again.  I kept trying to think of a title that contained alliteration such as November Nuances or November in the North. In the middle of one night, the title The Dance of November came to me and I had a good lead paragraph, but I didn't write it down.  In the morning the title remained, but not a word of the paragraph showed up in my brain.

Not until yesterday afternoon, when I was walking across our lawn with the dog, did the right words pop into my head.  The sun was shining and everything seemed golden.  The lawn was bright green and the creek was rushing.  It felt good to be out in the nippy air with the dog by my side.

I sat on a bench by the creek and everything seemed right with the world.  The term yin and yang seemed to fit what my moods have been this month, but I had to do some research to make sure I was thinking of it correctly.  I was.  The term deals with opposites and this month is a reminder, especially this year, of what has happened in history in November.

In 1963 I was sitting in my senior English class with Mr. Hill who was substituting for our regular teacher.  The high school secretary came on the PA and said that President Kennedy had been shot and killed in Texas.  We all looked at each other and were speechless.  Mr. Hill gazed at all of us and said, "Let us pray."  We bowed our heads and the room was silent.

That weekend was one of being glued to our black and white television sets to catch all the news.  A high school dance was canceled along with college football games.  On Monday I went to my friend Jean's house to watch the funeral.  It was the beginning of a different time.  The innocence in our lives was gone.

November in many ways reminds me of March, with weather that can either be like a lamb or a lion.  The great lakes can get ferocious and such was the case on November 10, 1975 when the Edmund Fitzgerald went down in Lake Superior with all 29 crew members.  November has always been a treacherous time to be on the great lakes.  This month we had our first snow and then a wind storm with power outages, but it was nothing compared to the storm on Lake Superior in 1975.  The song by Gordon Lightfoot, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald tells the story of that ship wreck. 

November is a transition month when nature is at its most subtle.  The colors that wowed us in October have turned to a burnished brown.  Yet there are bits of color if we look closely. Red berries on dark branches, a last yellow leaf in the creek, the green of the pine trees or a bright scarf on a child.  There is a nip in the air, but there is a coziness to the house.  Knit lap blankets and quilts come out of the attic.  The fire in the wood burner radiates a special warmth.

 

 

The month gives me an excuse to cuddle up with a blanket and a cup of tea.  I like to read a book in a comfortable chair with a fire in the fireplace.  For me November is a peaceful month before the holidays hit with full force. 

I love the years when our family gathers at our house for Thanksgiving dinner.  It is my favorite holiday as there is a comfort in the good food and that we can all be together.  The grandchildren are growing and changing and on that day I am especially thankful for the part they play in our lives.

The yin and yang of the month is different for everyone.  Gray days and rain can be depressing.  Events in our lives that make us sad are the yin.  Thinking of life and its fullness can be up lifting and thus the yang.  November is a time to step back and see how we can stand up to the weather that blows our way.  We can not have light without shadow.  It is a part of who we are the lives we live. 

The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Gordon Lightfoot

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vST6hVRj2A
 

The need to unstuff my little world

There are minimalists, collectors, over collectors and hoarders.  When I watch American Pickers I see mostly men who have collected beyond their capacity to store their stuff. Yet they don't want to part with much.  I feel I may be in that category.  My attics are groaning with so many articles that are crying to be set free.

I started cleaning out an area in our basement and was determined to give things away to Good Will.  Before I let the box go out the door I had removed three things I thought were too good to part with.  Never mind that my shelves are so crowded that many of the vases I have collected over the years have to be set on the floor.  How did I get myself in such a mess?

It started with the first thing I remember collecting, small trinket boxes.  They were so cute and didn't take up much room.  Plus they were affordable.  My favorite was one I bought at a gift shop in the Hotel Chateau Frontenac in Quebec City.  

Later that collection seemed to be growing out of control so I went on to something else.  Violets!  Anything that was beautiful, like a porcelain plate, or a small painting of violets had to be mine.  Any piece of linen with violets seemed too beautiful to pass up also.  Two antique dealers that knew me started putting things aside, items that were painted with violets, and then asked me if I was interested in buying whatever they had saved.  How could I turn them down?

Before I knew it I had more violet things then I could display so I decided to be more eclectic.  My collecting then became anything I thought was beautiful.  Dishes were easy to find but then I became more selective within that category.  My husband showed me a video he used in teaching his German classes. It was about the Meissen Porcelain Factory in Germany and the hunt was on.  I found my first Meissen plate in a shop in Pentwater.  After that I searched eBay and found that people selling Meissen in the U.S. were not demanding the prices that Meissen was fetching in Europe.

My husband and I were in a shop in Munich years ago where all they sold was Meissen porcelain.  When we told the shop owner we were school teachers from America his demeanor changed.  Then he asked us, "How can school teachers afford Meissen?"  It ticked me off.  Actually all I could afford in his shop was a small cup and saucer; so we left without buying anything and I told him we may be back.  I wanted to buy something just to spite him, but then my common sense took over.  However over the years I have found affordable Meissen in America.

We went to the Augarten Porcelain factory in Vienna in 2007 and the porcelain in their factory shop was very beautiful and resembled the hand painted patterns of Meissen.  Augarten is also hand painted.  I bought a couple of small things and since then have found many bargains in America.  But my days of collecting porcelain have come to an end as well.  Now much of it is packed away in boxes as I have too many pieces to display.  And so it goes with my collecting bugs.

I'm not sure when it happened that I got interested in collecting vintage and European linens. I think it started when we took my husband's German students on four different trips to Europe.  In Switzerland, Austria and Germany I found shops with beautiful affordable embroidered tablecloths.  Those pieces were easy to bring back home and so it began.

But to tell the truth, I now feel overwhelmed with stuff.  My attics are screaming to be cleaned out and things sold or given away.  However that is easier said than done.  Like a hoarder, if someone tried to come in and just tell me to get rid of my stuff, I would protest.  I have boxes of treasures and trinkets from estate sales, auctions, antique shops and yard sales that have not seen the light of day for years.  Yet if I were to examine the contents I would find something of value and think I needed to keep whatever it was.

I cannot begin to purge everything through my antique booth at Silver Hills in Pentwater, yet I have this thought of impending doom that my children will curse me one day when they have to sort and sell and throw out.  Yet, in a way I feel a sense of mischievous glee that all the while they are doing that, they will sigh and think, "Oh mother dear...what were you thinking?"  They might forgo the "dear."  But they will eventually come to the end of it after months of hard work and delight that they have a few dollars to spend on whatever they want. 

My collecting has slowed down to a snail's pace, but I would be telling a lie if I said it had stopped all together.  Once a collector, always a collector.  I recently bought a vintage toy.  It has a small wooden horse which looks like a piece from an old puzzle hooked to a tin cart.  I filled the cart with small vintage bottle brush trees that I bought at the same antique mall where I got the toy.  I figured that after Christmas I could add the little toy to my horse collection.  Have I told you about my horse collection?

Granddaughters and Giggles

If laughter makes one live longer, then my two granddaughters in Novi will keep me going for many years.  A visit with them is both a revelation in how old I'm getting and how young they are keeping me.  I will explain.

Friday morning Adrianna was ready to go wait for the bus.  She said, "Grandma, do you know when a person is too fat?"  I was waiting for some comment about my weight when she said,  "A person is too fat if they are wearing the largest size and they can't find a size larger."

I broke out in a loud laugh and when I laughed she started laughing in musical tones.  We both were laughing at each other's laughter as she headed out the door.  When Bella heard us she said, "Grandma, I've got a joke for you."

"What's your joke Bella?"

"What do boy chipmunks call girl chipmunks?"  I was stumped.

Bella laughed and said, "Chickmunks!"  I told her that was a good one and giggled at her joke.

On Saturday Bella went to a birthday party and my daughter, Adrianna and I were going to go pick her up and then go shoe shopping for the girls.  I was changing my clothes and putting on a white long sleeved top to wear under a sweater.  Adrianna said, "Grandma, you have stains on that.  One here and one there."  I laughed because all of a sudden I felt like an old woman who gets food on herself and always wears stained clothes.  I hadn't even noticed the stains when I packed the shirt.

Later as Adrianna and I were waiting in the car while my daughter ran into Michaels to get Bella at the birthday party Adrianna asked, "Grandma, why do you always have to clean when you come to see us?"  I told her to come up in the front seat as I wanted to seriously explain to her how overwhelming their big house was to clean and how she needed to help her mother more than she was doing.  As she slipped onto my lap....she's almost as tall as I am....her legs dangled out the open door and she giggled, "Grandma, you have a hair growing on your chin." 

We both started laughing as she is always the one to see such things.  "My mom carries tweezers in her purse."  We dug but came up with nothing but nail clippers.  She clipped away and said I just had a little stub left.  By this time we were laughing so hard.  Old ladies with stains and chin hair is about as funny as it gets in Adrianna's world.

After shoe shopping we all went out to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in Northville called Bone Fish.  Because the restaurant is so popular, even though we got there around 4:30, we had half an hour to wait.  An eleven year old and a nine year old can get a little wound up.  There was great jazzy music being played so while waiting in line I grabbed Bella's hands and started to dance.  Bella looked up at her mother and said, "Mom, Grandma is embarrassing me."

Several years ago Adrianna told me she could not take me to her school because I laughed too much.  Now she says she loves to hear me laugh so she goes out of her way to say and do amusing things to get my reaction.  

On the way home Bella said she would like to take care of old people when she grows up.  She remarked, "They are so cute.  I don't mean I want to change their pants; I just want to talk to them."  Then I burst out laughing.

Whenever I leave their house, I wish my two granddaughters lived closer to us.  The wonderful thing is they are coming for Thanksgiving and the laughter will continue.  They will keep me young for awhile longer. 

Adrianna and Bella ....sweet sisters......loving granddaughters....and that's no joke....