“Mrs. Occupant.” The handwriting on the envelope was as familiar as my own. The curve of the letters, the neat-but-sloppy rushed penmanship–I know it like the back of my own aging hand. It was the same handwriting that I found printed on the napkins inside my lunchbox during elementary school. I love you! the writing...
I wrap it every year. The tag reads: To: Charlie, Chanelle & Meadow. It’s probably silly to wrap the box. The inside of the large square package is no secret. They know it’s “the book”. Often, the book is set aside as soon as the wrapping paper is off. I watch as my hours of...
I open the door to the garage and Meadow bounds down the two steps in one big jump. She swings the car door open and I watch, holding her backpack, as she hops to the far side of the backseat. I swing her way-too-heavy backpack into the seat next to her, while she straps on...
Monday morning I feel Chad slip out of bed and I hear the bathroom door quietly close. At the sound of the running shower, I open one eye and peek at the clock beside the bed. 4:47. I bury myself under the warm covers and listen to the sound of the shower, relishing the final...
ohio
Oh, Summer, what a story! It touches me deeply and I understand what you mean. It is strange that I often think about the handwriting of my Mom, too. She is 83 now and I already had thoughts like how long I’d be able to read her handwriting in actual letters.
Looking forward to our cup of coffee!
Love
Christine
It is a gift that you are thinking about it now, Christine. Cherish all the moments you have—I know you do.
Looking forward to talking!!
Yes it is!! Writing matters. Pen to paper. Beans words
It does, Jackie. Thank you.