I am hiding. Well, sort of. It is Saturday morning and I am sitting in my bed with the door closed. I have not emerged yet even for a cup of tea. I have begged my dear hubby to let me sleep this morning (because my goodness, I need some sleep), and he is so good to me. I felt a little guilty, once I started waking up. I felt this panic that I must get downstairs and help out, do something. What kind of mother lays in bed? But then I thought...everything is quiet (ish), nobody is fighting, or, from what I can hear, bleeding. So what if they are camped out in front of the TV - and eating junk food in the playroom? It is Saturday morning, and truthfully they work hard during the week too, they deserve a little down time. Then I got to thinking - what kind of blogger leaves her blog ugly green and red with Aretha Franklin blaring Christmas tunes into the end of January? A very busy one sure, but it is neglectful. If anybody still even bothers to check this here blog I must thank you for your persistence. This morning I have given in to the guilt. No, not the guilt of having left my family to fend for themselves in the capable hands of their father, but of having left my loyal readers with nary a morsel for more than a month. I decided to stay quiet up here in my bedroom suite just a little longer and pick up the old 'puter - so here I am - happy?
I am recently returned from a trip to St. Louis where I was visiting with one of my favorite aunts and the cousins who come along with her. It was a lovely trip full of delicious home cooked meals (my weight watchers points went out the window) and old fashioned "visiting". I had planned the trip with the intention of capturing lots of old stories. I brought along a voice recorder, and my laptop. We sat for long hours drinking strong cups of tea and even stronger 7&7s and talking. I did get lots of stories and I gained lots of insight.
We looked at lots of old pictures - some really old. We took a trip to Walgreens and had them all scanned onto a disc for posterity. I am going to print and frame the one of my great grandparents, and the original source of Paddy Boy's namesake.
The really amazing thing, and the thing that has thus far made the most impact on me from this little trip - were the letters. My amazing auntie has saved in a book a ton of personal letters she received over the years. I feel so blessed that she allowed me to look at them and read them. What a gift. More than any picture or secondhand story can tell you about a person are their own words. Words are so powerful. SO beautiful. Writing is so important.
I read a beautiful letter that my grandfather had written to my aunt, his daughter, when she left Ireland for America. She claims it is one of her most treasured possessions. Of course it is. Often when we take pen to paper, or keyboard in hand, we express the things that we just could never bring ourselves to communicate face to face. Love. Hope. Pride. Sometimes fear or anguish. We can lay our inhibitions to the wayside, reveal our true selves in a way that the everyday sometimes prevents.
I read another letter written from one sister to another. My aunt "S" who is over 80 years old now, who has grandchildren graduating from universities, writing about the everyday realities of her life with (at the time) four children. I laughed so hard to realize how very similar our lives are, even lived so many generations apart. She wrote of the children being on "holiday" from school, and that it was hard to keep the peace when there are just "so many of them". Sing it sister, I hear you!! She also wrote with advice to her younger sister far off in the mid-west of America on how to get her children potty trained already. "After breakfast, sit her on the pot. Have a whole cut out of the chair, put the pot under it and have her sit there till she's done." She wrote about my cousins now in or approaching their "fifties" being out of "nappies", wetting the bed, and throwing temper tantrums. She also wrote of the simple everyday things, what they ate for dinner last night, what color she was having the kids bedrooms painted, and who had died recently. Basically all of the very same things that I chatter on about on the telephone with my own sisters or niece. The difference of course, is that my telephone conversations are gone once the words leave my lips and the receiver is placed back on the rung. These letters are there now for ever and always.
Which brings me back to my blog, quite literally. I have been away for a while because sometimes I just can't find the time or energy to write (and, why ever not?) - and other times I beat myself down thinking that what I have to say just isn't good enough. Now, I will try to think back to auntie's letters, and remember that words are a legacy. I need to remember also why I started this blog in the first place. Which is, because I like to write. Because I like to read what I write. I do not have to be the most prolific writer of my blogosphere generation, and I need to not put that kind of counterproductive pressure on myself. I write because it is fun. I am glad when you like it. I hope that someday my granddaughter or great niece will stumble upon these files and get a glimpse of me...hopefully what I write makes a better picture of who I am than that last photograph Curly girl took of me in my bathrobe! And so, my blog is important and I need to not feel guilty about taking some time to work on it. Yeah me...yeah you too!
