Tues Ten 031610: Handwriting Samples

I found some old letters recently. They were sent from old friends, from my mother and a few from my grandmother. Reading them again was an emotional experience. It took me back to other times in my life, and helped me relive experiences, remember the impact of people, and benefit again from encouraging words.

I’ve been thinking about letters recently, perhaps spurred by one of the selections in my recent Tuesday Ten list of books I’d enjoy re-reading. The book, A Woman of Independent Means, is a story told entirely in the form of personal letters. Although fictional, the power of the letters as they reflect the life of the heroine was unmistakable.

In particular, I’ve been thinking about the handwriting found in letters, and the specific moments in time they often describe or commemorate. In this increasingly digital age, the physical act of writing is in danger of becoming a lost art. I think I have maybe penned two or three actual letters in the last 12 months, providing much frustration to the readers in deciphering my handwriting. But, it is MY handwriting. I find that these days I sign, date or initial many documents. I record phone messages or grocery lists. But, most of my “written” words are actually typed. I often type my brainstorming lists. I’ve even been typing almost all my journal entries for the last year.

While the typing may be a faster way for me to record ideas, something is definitely lost in the process. There is a very tangible quality to the process of scrawling words on a piece of paper — a quality that just isn’t matched by pecking on a keyboard. Perhaps the quality comes from the fact that it DOES require slowing down to form the letters. It DOES give the mind a chance to compose thoughts more carefully. Beyond that, words on a page–letters–can be held in the hands. They can be stored away for later reading. They can be tacked to a bulletin board as a reminder. They can be hung in celebration of a new skill. They have their own presence.

It strikes me that to know a person’s handwriting is an intimate thing. There are countless friends and acquaintances in my life from whom I’ve never seen an actual written word. We’ve corresponded, to be sure, through email or Facebook or even on the telephone. But, I’ve never seen their handwriting. I’ve never seen how they sign their own names, how they form their capital letters, whether they use strictly cursive or print or some combination of the two, whether there is a slant to their written views or how they scratch through an error in their thinking. The handwritten understanding of a person can be a rare privilege. Experiences or sentiments recorded by hand offer a glimpse of specific situations, of larger contexts, of unnamed impressions. When I see my Grandmother’s handwriting again, I can sense the quiver in her fingers that made her writing slower as she aged. When I see my Mom’s handwriting, I can remember its carefully formed letters on the many hand-written tests she gave (and graded) during my growing up years. To this day, it is the handwriting of an elementary Language Arts teacher. When I see the handwriting of old friends, I recognize how it (and they) have changed over the years. I’m just now beginning to see the carefully formed alphabets of Little Drummer Boy and Bug as they learn how to write.

In celebration of the powerful act of physical writing, I give you this week’s Tuesday Ten: Handwriting Samples from the letters that have impacted me recently. No, I’m not offering the actual written shapes, but snippets of the letters and words shared. And like the cues experts glean from actual handwriting, these samples offer me some welcomed glimpses and reminders of the hearts of the people that wrote them. Some probably need further explanation. Some are just descriptions of a time or experience that warranted a written record at the time. I’ll let you use your imagination and enjoy.

1. “Dinosaur”
Little Drummer Boy presented me with this specimen of his preschool activities, complete with a picture of a brontosaurus and the typical guidelines found on writing worksheets. He copied the dotted lines to form the letters two times and then branched out on his own as instructed. The process broke down a bit through the “au” section, but wow! One of his first forays into letters not found in his name.

2. “Sometimes the top of a ladder seems a long way off, but you get there only one step at a time. So ‘hang your ladder to a star’ and climb. With all our love.”
One of the off-to-college letters I was privileged to receive from my Grandmother & Granddaddy.

3. “Bravo”
A congratulatory note from the Queen of my day job after the launch of some project. I can’t even remember the project, only that the impromptu tabletent was sitting on my desk when I arrived in the morning.

4. “C, E, T, I”
To my surprise, Bug formed these letters with his finger on a handy Leapfrog writing board we have. Toward the end of the process in a my-brother-is-my-best-friend moment, Little Drummer Boy showed him how to turn a capital “T” into a capital “I.” New knowledge is born.

5. “I spent the morning setting up questions to discuss: ‘If it’s cold outside and you could choose between sleeping with lots of blankets to stay warm or an electric blanket, which one would you choose, and why not the other.’ You know, typical existential questions.”
This description of a friend’s teaching preparations is a reminder that being witness to the passions of another can be a great pleasure.

6. “Dusty sends his love”
This epilogue was found in Mama’s letter to camp when I was 11 years old. It was accompanied by Dusty’s Cocker Spaniel “paw signature” accomplished with an ink pad and much patience, I’m sure–evidence of a Mother’s love, creativity and attention to detail.

7. “He will keep your soul.”
This little word of encouragement came as the fruit of an unidentified “Secret Service” communique. I suspect it was the doing of a group of high school girls with whom I had the privilege of enjoying each week in a Bible study. But, I’ll never know for sure.

8. “This check is small but maybe enough for a ‘burger & fries.’ So good to hear from you my love. P.S. I think Mama & Daddy are missing you.”
My grandmother always knew the value a college student would place on a good burger and fries. And I’m sure she was right about Mama and Daddy.

9. “We walked all afternoon through some of the most breathtaking — it took my breath away — countryside. The views were magnificent. The wild flowers were abundant and created a colorful carpet on the lush green of the grasses and ground covers. The terrain was, at times, formidable. The hills weren’t difficult, but it was no easy endeavor climbing them. I guess because the air was so pure.”
A description of a place I’ll likely never see can be almost like being there–at least like being in the mind of a friend who’s there. And that place is extraordinary.

10. “You have now embarked on perhaps the most rewarding journey of a woman’s life — that of motherhood. As you have already discovered, it is a wonderful, yet awesome responsibility & as we have already observed, you are a great mother.”
My mother wrote this to me in a letter for Little Drummer Boy’s first Christmas. The approving statement of someone you admire is powerful and worth remembering.

Please share with me your memorable handwriting samples…

Gift Tag: Sing!

It’s hard to muster up a song sometimes. The tiredness of the day, the busyness of the schedule and the frustration of the combination sometimes just sucks the song right out of me. Then, I hear the simple, sweetly spoken request. “Sing!”

Our nightly bedtime ritual includes a beloved lullaby CD that I made for Little Drummer Boy and Bug from iTunes downloads several years ago. The CD is worn and the sound is crackly from use. The songs are so familiar that any time we hear them on the radio, a chorus of “our bedtime song!” follows in unison. Each night as each boy takes his turn reading with Mommy, then climbing in bed, I cover them with blankets, rub their backs and start the music. Invariably on the weariest nights, the nights when supper was late on the table and baths took longer than expected, the ones when I’ve been the most impatient or the most haggard, I hear it. “Sing!”

It’s hard for an impatient heart to sing a song of peace. It’s hard for a hurried heart to sing a song of rest. It’s hard for a heart screaming with a million and one distractions to sing a quiet song. Still, in this heart of indulgence toward my precious gifts, I try. I sing. “Come to Jesus. Come to Jesus. And live.”

Something happens when I ignore the resistance amid yawns. When I lay aside the fatigue and the irritability and offer the frequently off-key and misregistered melody of “yes” to my little ones, I find that my heart actually opens to believing the lyrics anew, to embracing the words I impart. And in my spirit, I say “yes.” I sing.

Sometimes God allows me a special blessing akin to the one He enjoys from His children. Every now and then my gifts sing along–their minds following and anticipating, but only able to release the last words of each line. Often the only word they sing clearly is “Jesus.” Their tender hearts, unstained by cynicism and self-consciousness, sing out to Him. Ever open, all that they are calls out to all that they know of Him. In that moment, unhidden, it’s His name. In song.

And in that moment, opened by their openness, I find that I sing. Broken down and revealed, in desperate restlessness, pronouncing peace, I sing. To these gifts. To this God of all seasons, of all days. And, all that I can know of my heart calls out to all that I recognize of Him–summarized. In His name.

I sing.

Untitled Hymn by Chris Rice (our personal favorite)

Weak and wounded sinner
Lost and left to die
O, raise your head, for love is passing by
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus and live!

Now your burden’s lifted
And carried far away
And precious blood has washed away the stain, so
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus and live!

And like a newborn baby
Don’t be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk
Sometimes we fall…so
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus and live!

Sometimes the way is lonely
And steep and filled with pain
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus and live!

O, and when the love spills over
And music fills the night
And when you can’t contain your joy inside, then
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus and live!

And with your final heartbeat
Kiss the world goodbye
Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory’s side, and
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus and live!

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)

Tardy Solstice

It seems I’m tardy with many things these days. My only excuse is the daily occurrence of real life, joyous and challenging as it may be. Saturday was the Summer Solstice, the “first day” of summer, although our already humid 90 degree temperatures in Mississippi over the last week said it was at least a little overdue. Our Saturday was spent enjoying 2009′s longest day at my parent’s home. After yummy food and racing cars and stickered airplanes and much drooling and searching for “flint” rocks (ones I’ve yet to learn how to distinguish) and late afternoon naps and shouting and extra time with Daddy, it was 11:30pm before my three gifts could be coaxed to embrace the night, long after the sun had given up it’s day of “triumph.” Earlier in the week, a friend encouraged me to stare at everyone I love a little more closely these days in light of the unexpected brevity of life. I was decidedly blessed to take her up on the challenge the few extra daylight moments.

I came across a wonderful program called American Life in Poetry, which highlights modern poetry selections with notes from former U.S. Poet Laureate, Ted Kooser. Our local Arts Council has used it in their newsletter (which I design) for years. I’ve only recently paid closer attention and realized that the weekly offering is made available for free publication. A recent column was very apropos in beautifully articulating the push and pull of day and night this time of year.

American Life in Poetry: Column 220
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

One of the privileges of being U.S. Poet Laureate was to choose two poets each year to receive a $10,000 fellowship, funded by the Witter Bynner Foundation. Joseph Stroud, who lives in California, was one of my choices. This poem is representative of his clear-eyed, imaginative poetry.

Night in Day

The night never wants to end, to give itself over
to light. So it traps itself in things: obsidian, crows.
Even on summer solstice, the day of light’s great
triumph, where fields of sunflowers guzzle in the sun—
we break open the watermelon and spit out
black seeds, bits of night glistening on the grass.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation (www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright (c)2001 by Coleman Barks, from his most recent book of poems, “Winter Sky: New and Selected Poems, 1968-2008,” University of Georgia Press, 2008, and reprinted by permission of Coleman Barks and the publisher. Introduction copyright (c)2009 by The Poetry Foundation.  The introduction’s author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.  We do not accept unsolicited manuscripts.

Lovely. I think I’ll search out more of Mr. Stroud’s work. One caveat: Light seems just as unwilling to give up it’s hold on our hearts. On Wednesday, the boys and Hub were out chasing “lightening bugs” in the guise of doing chores for Miss Belle (the beagle). Upon their return, all sweaty and giggling, they informed me they had caught two. Only, one “COULD NOT turn his light off.”

Much like the lights of my life.

Shabbat Blessedness

It was crowded. There were so many distractions that God found a quiet, lonely place to wait. When I stopped struggling and came to sit at His feet in that lonely place, He began to teach me. He spoke to me:

“Blessed are you when you are poor and broken in spirit. This makes you understand my kingdom, for my love for you have been nurtured out of loneliness. My loneliness even brought you into being.

It is good when you mourn because it helps you cry for the hurts of others as well as your own. Don’t be discouraged, I will comfort you.

Blessed are you when you are gentle and meek. You learn a silent strength that will bring you success in my kingdom on earth.

I am so pleased when I see you long for holiness and truth like you long for food and water. I want you to be happy, and I will satisfy you.

Blessed are you when you show mercy and compassion because I will give that to you when you need it.

It is good for you to examine your heart and be honest with yourself and Me. Only when you trust me enough to truly reveal yourself to Me will I reveal Myself in greater ways to you.

Be a peacemaker. Seek to bridge gaps and heal hurts. You know that a child takes after his Father. Peacemaking is one of My greatest attributes. After all, that is what brought you back to Me.

You will be blessed when you take a stand for Me, when you abandon to Me. Even though it may be costly, you will be blessed. That, most of all, symbolizes my feelings and commitment to you: love to the point of pain and beyond.”

[paraphrase of matthew 5:1-12, "The Beatitudes"]

Career Plans at Fire Station No. 3

Yesterday marked our local mayoral and alderman elections in Starkville. Primaries and run-offs passed a few weeks ago, so Tuesday’s ballot was the final determination for our community’s leaders for the next four years.

Hub and I caravaned to Fire Station No. 3 after the daily daycare pickup event at 6pm. I kept the Fire Station No. 3 bit under wraps since I know from experience that they have the fire trucks squirreled away behind big metal doors when the station is employed as a polling station. If word got out in the back seat that a Fire Station was involved, we would have had to page some Fire Chief around town to pull one of those shiny suckers out of hiding to avoid an election day mutiny.

Any time we do something a little out of the norm, especially on the way home, the conversation with my gifts is always pretty interesting.  This one went something like this:

Squiggle: “Long way, Mommy”

Mommy: “Well, today we are going to vote, so we can’t go the long way.”

Little Drummer Boy: “Boat?”

Baby Girl: “uh Da Da Da Da Daaah”

Mommy: “No, vote. Mommy and Daddy are going to vote before we go home.”

Squig: “Is waaaay”

Mommy: “No, sweetie, we have to go this way to vote.”

LDB: “Why we have to vote before we go home?”

Mommy: “You know how you like to watch the Charlie Brown Election movie where Linus runs for class president and all his friends get to vote for him? Well, today is our election to decide who will be the leader of our city. So Mommy and Daddy are going to vote.”

Squig: “Trees!”

LDB: “Well, I think I can be the leader.”

Mommy: (with stifled giggle) “You do? So you can be the leader?”

BG: “Aaaah Ma Ma Ma”

Squig: “Whass At, Mommy?”

This question came up quite often referring to any number of random objects hanging out around Fire Station No. 3. I tried my best to answer, but I must confess I didn’t have an adequate response for the stray fire hydrant. But, then after Daddy finished his turn voting…

LDB: “I’m gonna be the leader of our town.”

Mommy: “Ok, that sounds good. I would vote for you every time, sweetie.”

LDB: “Good.”

Starkville residents seem to have been more involved (and invested) in this local election season as evidenced my much public debate, twittering of election night results and waving signs on street corners. That’s good to see. The younger citizenry seems to have been more interested this year in who would be the leaders of our town, possibly because we had quite a few younger candidates seeking service. For the first time in my voting life, we actually put a few yard signs for favorite candidates in our front yard.

I’d like to commend my friends Mike and Rachel Allen for Mike’s decision to run for Ward 4 Alderman. It was a great commitment for their family, and I admire their willingness to make it. Although Mike didn’t win, his desire to participate in the process is the same desire that spurred the creation of this country and the enumeration of the rights we hold dear.  Mike finished his thank you letter to voters with this statement,

“Again, as a candidate, I thank you for the chance to participate in the political process. As Americans, let us never forget that blessing or take it for granted.”

Indeed. The opportunity to participate, whether by voting, by running for office, by writing a letter in support of a bill or by standing in protest of a constitutional amendment or judge’s ruling is every American’s right and privilege.

Little Drummer Boy may never actually be the leader of our town. But the promise of tomorrow is that, without fear, he can choose to try.