Letters from the Past

On Friday I posted the blog about David and me returning from our trip to Europe.  I thought that was the end of my story of those adventures. 

Then I cleaned out the closet in my 2nd bedroom, the one I use as an office.  I found boxes and boxes of old letters.  We used to write letters the way young people today text messages on their telephones.  My letters were longer and more detailed than my blogs. 

Among other things, I found a stack of post cards sent to Wally during that trip.  I do not remember mailing him any cards.  Yet here they are.  They give a whole different view of our trip.  I will post them on a blog.   But later.  I have several other things to tell you about first.

I have only gone through a fraction of the letters stored in my closet.  Who knows what events I’ve forgotten and will come to light when I open all those faded envelopes? 

I found a letter my grandmother wrote to my mother when my parents were visiting my family in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania, at Thanksgiving time.  I do not remember my parents being at our house for Thanksgiving.  In truth, I do not remember my father ever coming to Pennsylvania.  Yet here is my grandmother's letter.

When I read the letter to my sister-in-law, Mary said, “I wonder why she didn’t go with them.”  My grandmother usually was with my mother, except when Mother stepped into the bathroom. 

This is what my grandmother wrote, exactly as she wrote it, misspelled words and all:  “Don came and took Cotten (her sister) and I to their home for “Thanksgiving Dinner.”  the first that Mary had cooked – her turkey was fine – but she did not know how to make gravey – I helped her with that.  And all of us enjoyed it.”

Mary has no memory of that meal.  Was it in the house she and Don built in Arlington?  She does not remember Aunt Cotton ever coming to their house.  And maybe Mary knew how to make gravy.  My grandmother frequently insisted on helping where no help was needed.

In her letter my grandmother continued, “Don brought us home and when I would not go home with Cotton and stay she decided to spend the night with me – and slept with me – would not sleep in your room (my parents’ bedroom) – the men across the street worked on an old car alnight and skept us awake -- but moved it out Friday – so all it quiet again at night.”

I can just see those two old women.  Aunt Cotton, who was in her 90's, had lived alone since the 1920's yet was concerned about her “little sister” staying alone while my parents were in Pennsylvania.  My grandmother resented every minute of it!   The two were always quarreling yet talked to each other every day.

My grandmother added a post script: “Lyle came by and visited Friday and took Cotton home.”

In my closet I also found two letters to me from Ruth Paine.  It will take another two blogs to explain how I happened to receive letters from the woman described in the press as “Marina Oswald’s landlady.”