This is a challenge from my friend Ping! (Robin) who also it seems feels sluggish about posting in her own blog. Had you noticed I hadn’t posted in a while? Her original post is at the OTHER mother.

So, for the next few days, I have something specific to post about! Thanks Ping! you’re a great pal!

Something old… My grandmothers kept lots of old things. From the one who immigrated to this country, the oldest things we have are a few postcards from her childhood. One from her own grandmother demonstrates that some “personal flaws” are perhaps genetic. The note begins (translated from the very old, spidery, non-Anglicized writing they used to use in Prussia): I am sorry I haven’t written in so long… [note from me: I tried to find the original, both to scan and to check the wording, but it is “somewhere” — as old things often are!]

Nearly every piece of correspondence from me — and from this grandmother to me — begin in similar fashion. I know I owe you a longer/better/more detailed letter…

We like to visit with people, we like to connect, but the very act of sitting down and putting thoughts on paper (or in print of some form) is daunting. What is it about this old family “tradition?” Perhaps it’s always wanting to be perfect, knowing that our words are such an imperfect reflection of our meanings.

But the meaning in that old postcard, written almost 100 years ago is very clear:


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