LETTERS FROM GRANDMA

Earlier this month while attending Marianne Love's Memoir Writing workshop the topic of letter writing came up and how some historians see the lack of letter writing in today's world as a potential problem; especially when it comes to future generations not having a record of the ordinary,everyday habits of family and friends written in their own words and perspective.

I tend to agree with these historians, and think of all we have learned about famous people i.e presidents, poets and playwrites through their letter writing; but not just the rich and famous.

I think of the huge box of letters I have kept over the years from family and friends that tell about the daily big and not so big moments in their lives. I can look back to July 1964 and read in my grandma Cooney's own hand about her long awaited trip to Europe. After seeing St. Peter's Bascilica she wrote, " It is the largest and richest church in the world. St. Peter is buried there. I was fascinated with Michelanglelo's work; I saw his last sculpture - which he made when he was 84 to be placed at his grave. The name of it is ' Descent from the Cross'. It it Michelangelo holding Christ in a slumping position".

In grandma's letter she went on to describe the sheer majesty of the Sistine Chapel and to say she bought me a rosary that was blessed by the Pope, and about the Coliseum completed in 80 A.D to hold 50,000. She wrote about the bus ride and driver and how good it all was. Finally she put her experience to rhyme:

"On a visit to Rome, I'd have felt like a clod
If I didn't walk where the
Caesar's had trod;
Around fountains, through temples
up Rome hills I puffed,
Oh, there wasn't a church
or museum I muffed.
And I thought , as exhausted,
I sat down at last
Midst the ruins of the Forum
whose glory had passed;
History always repeats, it is
nature's design
Here Rome's arches have fallen
and now so have mine" (Vera Cooney July, 1964).

From the time I was a very young girl - after we moved to California from Council Bluffs, I received a weekly letter from my grandmother. They are filled with information about the weather like her letter dated April 8, 1965 "Today we're seeing our first day of spring, the temperature outside is 71; the windows need a good washing and the front porch sweeping", or about the bottles she was filling with color to take to the cake decortating class she taught each Tuesday night at Thomas Jefferson high school or a wedding she was getting ready to cater, "My dining room table is covered with cake which I must make icing for and put together tonight - decorate it tomorrow. I have all the pans washed up and am making a shrimp salad and have a rhubarb pie in the oven".

There was always mention about my aunts and uncles and cousins and what was going on in their lives. By doing so grandma was helping to keep her family connected. And in every letter there was always an encouraging word like she wrote to me the summer before I started high school, " I am so happy you are determined to take Journalism in high school and college, and remember, you are going to college !!! You are the master of your mind - you are the captain of your soul. Your gram is behind you and don't you forget it".

Simple and sweet letters that I wouldn't part with for a hundred million dollars. I see grandma's days through her eyes - the people she knew, what she did, how she lived her life. Not the world's history, but my history.

ANNIE OAKLEY

I sometimes like to think of myself as Annie Oakley - true I don't have a horse or know how to shoot a gun , but I do have cowgirl boots (and wear them often enough that they're well worn and comfortably broken in).

Maybe it's Annie's sharpshooting skill that intriques me, or her fearless trick riding on the back of a cantering pony; or maybe her showmanship while shooting down six glass balls thrown into the air during one of Buffalo Bill Cody's Wild West shows. As I said I don't have a horse and can't imagine myself ever standing up on one while it galloped around in circles - although once a long time ago - while still a teenager, I did ride on the hood of my friend Diana's 1955 white Ford while she drove down Florence Avenue. I'm not sure what the point was, but it did take balance and nerve; it was a daring fete, sort of a modern day 'trick' riding ( albeit a somewhat foolish one), and I remember smiling big as many cheered when we pulled into the McDonald's parking lot.

Certainly I always admired Annie's free and adventureous spirit, but not that alone. I like she was a loyal and good friend; Sitting Bull and the Sioux among those she called friends. Little Sure Shot, as Sitting Bull named Annie treated both the famous and not so famous, the wealthy and not so wealthy in the same gracious way.

Most assuredly I have intertwined her real life with Hollywood's, "Annie Get Your Gun" musical. Who can't remember Betty Hutton (Annie) and Howard Keel (Frank Butler) trying to outsing each other , "Anything you can do, I can do better. I can do anything better than you". Being a woman I loved how Annie didn't back down and stood her ground. During our courtship and early years of marriage my husband Gary and I played a lot of tennis. We both had a competitive nature and more than once during the middle of a set I'd stop, stare at Gary and in my best Annie Oakley/Betty Hutton imitation would burst into song, "Anything you can do I can do better", and Gary would sing back, " No, you can't". Then me, " Yes, I can". Then him again, "No, you can't". After several vocal volley's back and forth we'd finally resume the match.

The truth is Annie and Frank had a long, loving and lasting relationship until their death in 1926. They died only 20 days apart; first Annie, then Frank.

There's a classic photo of Annie wearing a pleated skirt and long sleeved button down the front shirt; her Western style hat sits atop her head (I have one that looks a lot like it). She is holding the stock of her rifle with her right hand while a part of the barrel rests on her shoulder; confident and unafraid. Another reason I like Annie.

Letters and Words

First the letters
then the words;
a subject, noun and verb
complete a sentence,
write another
A paragraph
on paper
soon takes form
Edit, edit, edit some more
Description,character,plot;
the birth of story
beginning to end
ready now
wanting to be born

TEXT AND TWITTER

In recent years the internet and email has certainly changed the way we correspond with one another; add to that Instant Messaging , Blogging, Texting and Twitter and soon there'll be no more hand written records . To watch my 6' 3" son use two thumbs and rapidly move them across a tiny cell phone keyboard to 'text' a message to a friend fascinates me; I've tried it a few times and what takes him a nano second takes me 15 minutes !

The quick delivery of all this high speed , fast paced technological way of communicating is beneficial and fun , but I do wonder what becomes of the hand written word; the scribbled notes and long letters once sent to family and friends describing important and not so important things in every day life. They provide a history, a glimspe of a moment in time that can be preserved for children and grandchildren to read and re-read far into the future. So I say, text and twitter but don't throw the pen and paper away !

TEA PARTY

"Let's go to a Tea Party?" That was my husband's invitation to me yesterday morning. It was Tax day and many such parties were being held across the country - to peacefully protest and make a complaint against high taxation and government spending out of control. At Independence Point in Coeur d'Alene there were close to 1,0000 people in attendance. With the blue of the lake and beautiful north Idaho sky the event was provided a perfect backdrop.

Please know, I don't mean to offend anyone who holds affection for the Los Angeles Times - once, many years ago I used to work there myself, but it made me laugh to read the paper's account that those attending Tea Parties were some kind of wild, weird radical extremist's ....something I don't consider myself at all, or others I know who also went to a 'Tea Party'. Susan, my friend of 53 years said the 'Tea Party' in Eatonton, Georgia attracted 300 people from her tiny rural town; there were 6,000 in Atlanta. Susan went onto say it was a relaxed, peaceful gathering. I found the same to be true of those meeting at Independence Point; there were people of varying ages and backgrounds, all were well behaved and polite. I would add there was a festive feel in the air, akin to the excitement when attending an outdoor concert.

Some of the signs people were carrying were interesting ;thought provoking. I can't remember all of them now, but one read, " Next time you print a trillion, print a trillion for me"; another, " Read the bill before you sign it into law", and "Just Say No to Socialism". One mother and dad brought their three young children dressed in black and white striped jail clothes; each one following the other and holding a sign, "I'm a Prisoner to Debt". They were quite the attraction and caught the eye of many. If it wasn't so serious, it would be funny. Perfect for Halloween.

At the beginning of the program a young middle grade student stood confidently on stage and recited (from memory) the famous Patrick Henry speech. He did an outstanding job ! It used to be all students of a certain age memorized, or at least were familiar with speeches given by our nation's Founding Fathers. Sadly, I'm not sure that's the case today.

The Cda Tea Party was slated from 3 p.m. to 5 p.m. , but Gary and I left at 4. As were were leaving, others were arriving. I didn't find the speakers giving way to hateful words, or trying to incite others , but only concerned for the welfare and future of our great country. Neither did I find the speeches to be Democrat or Republican, but American..... which was refreshing.

MORNING SUNSHINE (and a little cereal, too)

What a difference a day makes. Monday we woke to cool temperatures and snow; this morning the sun is shining and skies are blue . The clean, fresh air feels good against my face. From our deck I can see the shimmer on the lake and watch a mama deer and her two fawn manuever their way thru the tall pines. I'm touched by the simple scene; if I were an artist I'd want my paints and brush to capture on canvas for all time, to share with the world. Except for the flitter of a Jay landing on a nearby branch, it is quiet; peaceful. I take a deep breath, exhale and know at this moment , in my little corner of north Idaho all is bright and beautiful .

Later, coming into the house I headed straight for the coffee pot. Both my husband and I drink decaf, but I like mine stronger than he does. For years we used Starbucks Verona, but a few months ago was turned onto "Peet's Decaf Major Dickason's. Even though we like the rich, complex taste we tweeked it by mixing with Kirkland's dark roast, something we now call, "Dobbs' Blend". For you decaf drinkers, this has a good flavor - but the real benefit is we get more for the buck and our coffee lasts longer.

I mix my cereal, too. Which moves me to a question my friend Phyllis emailed yesterday asking me to please (and she underlined the word please) tell her what cereal I ate in the morning. Her question made me think of one of those crazy tests always popping up on the internet to name our favorite this n' that. Then after answering, it identifies some odd and unique personality type. Oh, oh. Now I'm wondering what it may show about my personality that Cheerios remains my cereal of choice. Even though I mix cereals - kind of like a tossing a salad - by adding a few spoonfuls of Post's Honey Bunches of Oats and/ or other Cheerio's: MultiGrain Cheerios, Honey-Nut Cheerios, and the new naturally flavored Banana Nut Cheerios. Now, here's a good question. "Does mixing different Cheerios together count as different cereals or not"?

Well, enough about decaf and cereal. Time now for house chores and laundry.

TAX DAY

Tax my car Tax my clothes Tax my drink and what i eat Tax my bike Tax my phone Tax the furniture; hearth and home Tax my books and what i read soon they'll tax the air i breathe Tax the living Tax the dead Pay the tax forever said.

Each year I anticpate and look forward to the first snow of the season. There's something special about seeing the dry summer earth blanketed in a cold, cool white. I anxiously await the time I can walk out my front door, slip on my snow shoes and head across the countryside; It's grown up play time for me - make believe. I become a daring adventurist trekking the winter wilds. But today is April 14. According to the calendar it's spring, and time for springtime things: planting, painting, gardening, and bike riding. I put my snow shoes away last month. But north Idaho weather isn't logical and doesn't always follow the typical four season climate rule. This morning we woke to 3 inches of snow ! Spring snow.

This past Saturday I had the good fortune to participate in a one day workshop at the Coeur d'Alene Inn, " Writing Stories from Real Life". Sponsered by the Idaho Writers League, Coeur d'Alene Chapter, it was presented by famed Idaho author, Marianne Love. Marianne is both a gifted writer and talented speaker - the hours sped by and at the end of the day I found myself saying, " but Marianne says", when discussing memoir with my fellow writers. A throwback to my parochial school days when I'd come home each afternoon only to rebut my mother, "But Sister says."

One interesting tidbit Marianne shared gave me pause - she was born in Sandpoint and never left , Marianne said she grew along with the town. I couldn't help but think of the small bedroom community where I grew up. There was no industry to speak of and only a handful of retail stores, a few restaurants, gas stations, barber shops and one movie theater. Oh, and a city park. Public schools were named after the streets where they were located; Woodlawn Ave, Fishburn, Corona Ave. For most of us Bell was a safe and secure place; we were a cozy group who liked each other and liked living there. But slowly one by one we all moved away - to other places: Washington, Idaho, Colorado, Georgia. I wonder now how our lives would have been different if we had chosen to stay; and the city itself. Today there is little left of the Bell I remember; the culture and language are not familiar to me. The environment completely changed. There is no going back to the Bell of my youth, it can only be found in looking at old photos and sweet memory.

i genuflect and bow my head;
slip into the pew,
say a prayer and wait.
the church is filled - over filled
with regular
and non-regular worshipers;
it is Easter Sunday.
The altar
surrounded with
white lilies and ribbons
is beautiful
The organist begins to play;
the choir sings
a joyful "Alleluia, Alleluia"
Faces in the crowd
look hopeful, expectant;
ready to celebrate the
one Risen Lord