Love letters

My grandmother was always a very busy and loving woman.

I didn't get to see her often, as she and my Grandfather lived in Germany where he served as a Baptist Minister.

During her extended stays while visiting our house, she was helpful with the cooking and ironing. She was also very good at sniffing out cluttered drawers or closets.

It was also a common scene to see her sitting at the kitchen table, writing amongst stacks of stationary and rolls of stamps.

"What are you doing?" I'd ask coming over to take a look.

"Writing a letter," she'd reply.

Indeed she was. Looking to the top of the letter in her hand, I read the word "Greetings..." which was how she began each of her letters. Next to this word she would place lots of stickers showing floral bouquets. In those days they were not the self-stick kind of stickers. You had to lick the back first. I can still remember their gluey tang. She had tons of them.

"To who are you writing a letter?"

"Someone who's in the hospital."

Content with her reply, I'd leave her to her writing.

A half hour later, I'd see her still writing.

"Is that the same letter?" I inquired.

"No, this is another one."

"To who?" I'd ask. I was a very nosey child.

"My friend."

"Is this friend in the hospital too?"

Without looking up and without breaking stride with her pen she replied...

"No, but this friend lives alone."

An so, this would go on all afternoon. By the time she was done, there were many sealed envelopes addressed to various countries overseas plus some going to the States. These envelopes too, were abundantly well stickered.

It was an enigma of sorts to me, a little girl, as to why she spent hours each day, writing all those letters when there were other fun things to do, like watch T.V., or play outside. And of course, there was the expense, as she was forever purchasing more stationary, more stamps, and more booklets of those beautiful little stickers.

Then at last, I remember the day I finally asked her...

"Do you write letters to EVERYBODY?"

"No," she answered.

"Then who do you write all these letters to?"

"I have alot of friends who either live alone at home, or are in a rest home. And then there are those who have to stay in the hospital for a very long time."

Still not satisfied, I decided to press her further.

"But why do you have to write them all letters?"

My Grandmother finally looked up from her writing and said to me...

"These are very loney people and everyone deserves to get a letter from time to time. Letters bring memories of happiness and friendship."

Then she said something to me that I will never forget, ... ever.

She said...

"I write them a letter... so that they at least get one."

~*~*~*

Postcard

"Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it." ~ Anne of Green Gables


My daughter likes to quote that saying alot. Probably because she knows that it annoys me so much.

Mistakes are inevitable with me because I am truly flawed. My goal is to keep them to a minimum and learn from them when I can.

For my friends who get stressed over their mistakes, I relate the following true story.

Oppenheimer & Einstein developed the first nuclear bomb together without ever having met.

It was at last decided that a historical meeting would finally be arranged and only one photographer would be allowed to document the event. This photographer was best known from his work at Life magazine and was considered at the top of his field.

This meeting did not last long and was quickly over. Oppenheimer and Einstein would never meet again.

The photographer went back to his lab to develop the pictures for the blockbuster story.

Imagine his utter disappointment when he realized that he had neglected to remove the lens cap cover.

So, with that in mind, I refuse to be daunted by my future mistakes...

Bring it on....

The Pidgeon of Trevi

What comes to mind when you think of the Trevi Fountain of Rome?

Do you envision romance, ....beauty, ....art?

Well, imagine this if you can...

It is a hot September day in Rome. The sun beats down on the throngs of noisy people as they jostle for positon along a glistening pool that holds the world's most famous fountain.

And there I am, at the destination of my dreams.

And yet, it is not the woundrous fountain that has captured my imagination.

Rather, I stand as still as a statue swept up in the vision of a singular pidgeon who has settled atop a small island of stone just above the cool waters edge.

With head tucked under wing, it dozes blissfully unaware of the noisy chattering crowds, the gushing fountain, the smells, warm breezes, and hot sun.

Refusing to succomb to the Trevi madness, this winged creature has decided to follow it's own bliss.

After some time, I walked away from the fountain, content in the knowledge that this bird will never know of my presence.

And so, what crosses my mind when I think of the Trevi Fountain?

Two lessons well learned.

Postcard

Say the word postcard to me, and my heart immediately experiences a joyous spark.

That is because I consider postcards as a wonderful means of conveying greetings, experiences, thoughts, and ideas.

Is it any wonder that I continue to collect them.

Today is January 1, 2010, and this is my first postcard to the web.

I do not blog because I feel whatever I write as worthy reading. Rather, I blog thinking that perhaps there might eventually be someone, who wants to know a little bit more about me, and how I got to be where I am.

First, and most importantly, I must tell you that I am not what you assume.

Are any of us?

Would it surprise you to know that at this very minute I am sitting in semi-pajamas at 3:00 pm, watching Apollo 13, while my daughter frets beside me fretting over her knitting. In a few minutes I will join her and we will both knit/fret together. Oldies music is blasting from the basement where my husband relaxes in his lair reminiscent of The Lone Gunmen from the X-files series.

Other things that might surprise you about me is that I am not one for small talk, I love to quote old movies and all things Star Trek. Quiet, contemplative solitude is precious to me.


One of my resolutions is to write more this year.

Stephen King wrote that all writers should strive to write one thousand words a day. For years, I've been trying to do that, but unsuccessfuly. I truly hope that keeping a blog will be instrumental in helping me keep this resolution.

That's enough about me for now.

I have other things that need doing, as I'm sure you do too.

Happy 2010!

Yours truly,

Doris

Old Candles

I love candles.

Throughout my house, there are candles large and small that I have collected over the decades. My Christmas candles are particularly prized because all have come as gifts from departed loved ones.

What saddens me is that over the years, the older candles have lost a portion of their colourful charm. Their smooth texture has taken on a dusty grain.


Each year, as I place them about the house I question myself as to why they remain unused. Perhaps it would have been better if they had been put to use while they were still vibrant and new.

Maybe so.

However, what sets my heart aglow is the fact, that the moment I decide to take a match to it's waiting wick it will burn brightly, no matter how old, faded or dusty it may be.

Like these candles, I too grow older. And as oncoming years fade and dust my exterior, I have one resolute hope. May my family and loved ones always know without a doubt, that like these old candles, when lit, I will always have the potential to burn brightly into the night.

What the Blog?

I don't know whether to be embarrassed or relieved.

Until now, I have been able to veer away unimpeded from having my own blog.

Not that I have anything against them, but it was an ongoing enigma to me as to why bother investing any precious time on a questionable venture.

"I'll never have a blog," I kept telling myself. But that mantra didn't work any more.

Why?

Because I once said the same thing about joining Twitter.

So, six months after being an avid and happy twitterer, I decided to break another personal barrier, and have my own blog.

This blog would not exist if not for @Jennyablue and @JeffMeyerson .

I watched in amazement, as @Jennyablue jumped head first into the icy cold blog waters. I held my breath as she was submurged into it's undertow.

She did not sputter, cough, or even turn blue.

Instead, she emerged smiling, and her blue eyes were shinier than ever.

Wow.

For years, I held this guilty obsession with words. Into my ever present journal, I captured words and phrases which to me were precious pearls. And if not quickly written down, they would be forever lost to me. Indeed, far too many have fallen through the wooden, creaky, floorboard in my mind.

Oh, and how I dread being caught out of syntax.

Yes, my name is Doris Koren, and I am a suffering syntaxaholic. I can fuss over the arrangement of words until their true meaning has been fretted and boiled clean out of existance.

The more I read and learned about @JeffMeyerson , the more at ease I felt with the handling of my own words. Words are free for all and not meant to be encased in everlasting crystal or fearfully hoarded away.

Also, you'll notice that the furniture around here is standard and quite ordinary. Not wanting to waste any more time, I decided to pick a basic blog program instead of holding out for the deluxe version at the end of the proverbial blogging rainbow.

I don't have time for that right now. I have better things to be doing.
After all... my Twitter friends are waiting for me to come out and play.

Thank you Jeff.

Thank you Jen.

I am greatful.