Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Time traveling again.

Isn't this a wonderful piece of paper? Well, picture of a piece of paper. In some research I am doing on my extended family, I came across a book about one branch and it had some wonderful pictures of stern looking people, run down castles and letters of agreements, wills, etc.
I absolutely love to see old script on a page.
As I have mentioned before I'm going through a rather large box of things that I had saved and packed up when we moved 11 years ago. I'm not sure if I had been through it before we moved just moved the box. Anyway, I'm finding all these letters, little notes, pictures, cards that my children made for me or sent me. I also am finding letters from relatives, nieces and nephews, etc. that are mostly thank you's but still wonderful to read.
It also has come to my attention that I don't really have anything like that from my grandchildren. They have email accounts and even though they are young and even though I have sent them emails, there seems to be a lacking of response.
When my mother got a divorce I remember my father taking me aside and telling me to type anything to him. If I wanted to write I had to do it by hand. I also remember being so angry at both of them that I swore I wouldn't so much as put pen to paper, in my lifetime. But, hey, I was ten.
My mother worked and using a typewriter was second nature to her. She typed everything and I suppose that's where part of his resentment lay. What he also neglected to mention was that he didn't write letters, period. So, imagine my surprise when , digging in this box I find a hand written note, to Zeus and I, from my biological father.
See, I think I remember things and now I'm finding out that some memories seem to be hazy or lost or foggy or in this case BURIED.
Zeus goes to Boston to pick up middle son, at college and drive to Baltimore to stay with Grandma, for a visit. Along the way, they decide it would be a great idea to bring daughter and father together. They meant well.
Of course, it also means that they dismissed all my comments about my relationship with said father.
So, they stopped in New Jersey and surprised the man and his family and had a visit.
They were so proud of themselves for tracking him down, visiting the local police station, where he had been a Chief of Police, now retired.
They had a nice visit, Zeus wrote it all down in a story, for me.
They traveled on to Baltimore, so pleased with their adventure and so sure that now they would bring about a reconciliation of daughter and father.
Over the years, two more visits with my family in tow before my family gathered around me and agreed that I had been right that visiting him was not healthy for any of us.
I like his wife. I like my half brothers. I have difficulty connecting with my father. He has trouble connecting with me, enough said.
I write this because this blog gets turned into a book at the end of the year and it's a record of my life and memories, for my family. So, sometimes even the not so nice memories have to be recorded.
So, I hold in my hand a handwritten note from my father, to Zeus and I, thanking him for visiting. Since he NEVER wrote anything to me I stare at the letter and think that he had hopes for connecting. He thought it would work out. I stare at his handwriting thinking it doesn't look like mine at all. My handwriting looks like my mother's and she didn't even teach me to write script. It's a letter of hope but not of reality.
The reality is that my father is still after all these years unable to let go of the hurt from his divorce. He is unable to see me because he doesn't know me. He sees my mother when he looks at me. Two visits made it clear to myself and my family that actually seeing "me" brings out a side of him that surprised his family but not me.
It is what it is. I keep in contact with his wife, I send cards at the appropriate times. I made him a healing quilt. He doesn't know it's a healing quilt but if he uses it I hope the positive energy and prayers, I sewed into it, will help heal his angry feelings, towards my mother. I keep his wife updated on pictures of the family and Zeus and my health and welfare.
I'm at peace with the situation and I hope before he died he too can come to piece with his issues.
All this, brought on my staring at handwritten ink, on a piece of paper.
Are pen and ink that powerful? Have we lost something when we lose the handwriting of someone? Does printing illicit the same emotions as when we discover a letter written in script?
Why do we love script so much that we even make stamps of it, to use in our journals?
I saw, Stampington magazine was selling a well known artist's designs of script writing, for stamping in journals, for $8.00 a stamp!
Oh and BTW if you want to turn your Blog into a soft bound book go to and REMEMBER TO TELL THEM THAT Bea of sent you. I get points.
Have no idea what I will use the points for but it sounded like a good idea. :)


  1. I really liked this post Bea. You are so honest with your writing(blog writing that is) Your family will one day treasure this account. I already use Blog2Print and love it. My family will also have a collection of my healing woman art but I really need to start a family blog..which I hope to do soon. You have inspired me. Thanks!

  2. Great post as always Bea. The book to print thing is something I've thought about also. I hardly ever put personal things on my blog...don't know why really. The handwritten letter is rare. My friend Lana and I write letters to each other sometimes, but then we go back to email. I really enjoy letters more.

  3. Anonymous1:21 PM

    I think the paper absorbs more than ink when you write, and it's that something which doesn't come across in an email. Even a typewritten page has more character...well, it does for me because I'm such a lousy typist.