What Will It Be?

I listened as they spoke. As a back seat passenger, I wanted to hear it all. Whatever was under discussion, I wanted to know. The passengers in the front seats were very knowledgable, interesting people and family, too. As I listened I began to smile.

A new kid on the block from the company of one of the front seat people, an IT employee, had been trying to connect with a colleague in another department of said company. It was very important. Emails and texts had failed. As this individual spoke of his desire to reach her, another senior employee had walked into the room and remarked, “Why don't you go to the forth floor. She is there working. Quick and Easy!

I laughed at the obvious. Has the digital age replaced common sense? Interpersonal skills seem to be lacking, somewhat. Then we have the “You can never meet a decent guy in a bar. Momsey did and we were together for over 50 years. (I was a cocktail waitress while a student at Toronto's Ontario College of Ed.) There was no such thing as a dating APP or cell phone. There was the landline and society still managed to connect and marry, too. And the phones did not ring non-stop.

Emails and texting rule today but once upon a time, letters and postcards arrived by snail mail, the premiere method of communicating, employing thousands of people who touch the world, daily, via daily delivery of paper and packages. Things change but why discard people in the process and ridicule their choices?

Scrolling the screens of all the digital gadgets is o.k. But reading a book, magazine or other print media are so last year. Who decides what's in or out? Everything has its place. Just choose yours and be happy.

"It's Life"

“It's life”, he remarked as he ate his dinner. I looked at him and asked what he was talking about. He retorted with absolute delight,,”The pasta”. I stood there thinking about what he had said and why. He loved homemade pasta so the comment seemed to fit. Another round of homemade pasta, please.

Homemade pasta had just been served from several 'pasta pucks' that had been stored in the freezer for a few months, for that last minute meal. Today I would make more pasta dough and freeze the 'pucks' for next time. My days of making the dough, rolling it into pasta then cooking it were over. I would make the dough then freeze it. Others would assume control for the cooking and dressing of it..

Dad would cook it. He always did. Eliminating the cooking step for me was a game changer. Someone else would do it. My presence was not needed. The boys could do it while mom and dad were there.. Freedom from drudgery. And everyone was happy. If there was a shortage of pasta pucks, I would simply eat a hotdog then make more dough.

Making pasta dough was easy. This the boys knew. At 8 and 5 years of age these pasta connoisseurs had begun learning the craft a few years ago. The taste difference of homemade pasta was an obvious joyful moment for these boys. Even dad seemed happy . He loved homemade noodles with cottage cheese, his family favourite since he was a boy. His wife, their mom, liked it too but would rather have saurkraut filling from pierogies.

Everyone received something homemade worthy. Croissants would wait till I taught them how. First I had to learn! The fun of eating in was all around us. Health and wealth was in the room.The vegetables were nearby.

Handwriting's ComfortingTouch

Handwriting is becoming obsolete says the author. It is no longer needed or wanted.Today's generation believes in the absolute power of online messaging to replace the drudgery of handwriting, the pen and paper way.  

Handwriting offers us a special and unique style of someone we know that makes us feel close each and every time we read the messages. Pen in hand is a personal triumph. It takes time to do.. Handwriting can be a declaration of love or friendship of the person who is writing in his unique style known by no other.

Because my handwriting is not the great (I am left handed) cards of all sorts offer a sense of relief and wonder for me, a place where adding more is commonplace with the handwriting skill of the writer. It is a secret language, a unique style of communicating to others that is so special, unlike any other.

I was not proficient at handwriting so I practiced and practiced with pen, often, to improve my style. I used both hands hoping one would be the winner. I envied the handwriting style of others I knew. It was perfection. My right side seemed useless so I printed, scribbled or wrote to strengthen my brain's connections to that hand.Using both hands made sense. What if my handed side was injured, one day. The other side could help.

During this period of mourning, I have been given comfort through the memories that cards, letters and notes left behind by him. He was my GPS and family right from the start.  I was a cocktail waitress: he, a late Thursday evening customer, arriving with friends after a long week on a business trip. Our lives spanned over 50 years. He touched my heart over and over in words that have soothed the pain of his passing. Mr. Wiggles, our 12 year-old retriever, j had joined him months earlier.

Loyalty, caring and love kept us together. The vestiges of a life well-lived is showcased in handwritten notes and cards. His handwritten style of love has kept me strong, comforted and connected. I was and still am a lucky girl. The personal nature of handwriting, the human symbols of communication, carries me forward knowing I mattered to someone special, once upon a time. My heart is healing.