Friday, May 28, 2010
Dear Blog:
Last week I had a wonderful surprise: I stopped by the mail box to get the day’s mail, which usually consists of offers for pizza, insurance and/or bills, but this time I found a letter. An actual handwritten letter! Addressed to me! And not even a fake letter with a computer font to resemble handwriting. I felt like Charlie Brown receiving a letter from the little red-head girl! It was a letter from my beloved friend Bradley, who was on vacation in San Diego.
When did the mailbox get so depressing? We all know the answer to the question, but think about it. The mailbox was once a place of information, a source of joy from a loved one across the seas, a postcard from your Aunt Myrtle sending you greetings from Saratoga, a weekly letter from Mom wanting to know how you are doing and telling you how you how Uncle Earl is getting along. Please don’t get me wrong. I love e-mail, the speed of text and the power of social networking but there was great comfort and joy in Bradley’s letter. It was tangible.
Let me share with you about my friend Bradley. Bradley is truly an old soul and often I wonder if he was born in the wrong time period. I think he’s about 100 years late. But that is Bradley’s charm. He is thoughtful when many are not. He writes handwritten letters and takes joy in finding good stationery and fountain pens. He has a bountiful collection of hats to match his mood or attire. He is my partner for afternoon tea. Then he’ll tell me that he has purchased a silver tea service because it would be a crime to serve tea to the Queen of England on a wooden tray. So my letter from Bradley was nothing less than wonderful. Good stationery, fountain pen and wonderful words of the beauty of the beaches at San Diego.
Letter writing is a lost art form. When I think of letter writing, my mind goes automatically to the Victorians and Edwardians. Not only were they avid letter writers, they took great pride in their handwriting with wonderful flourished and embellished script. Me, being a true geek, has even tried my hand at this script, known as Spencerian script. But with the advent of the technological age, there seems to be a resurgence of interest in letter writing, and that is a wonderful thing.
Last year, Time magazine did an article about the decline of cursive writing. Due to standardized testing, many kids aren’t being taught how to write in cursive. The article stated that, if this trend continues, many students won’t be able to read the Declaration of Independence or the United States Constitution. This bothered me greatly. I knew in the 3rd grade we would learn 3 new things: multiplication, division and cursive handwriting. I was so excited to learn this. Cursive writing was one of the ways I expressed myself.
Cursive writing? Expressive? Really Laura? Were you that deprived as a child? Well no, but let’s just say that I don’t have those “talents” to draw or paint, but I do have wonderful penmanship. So, while other kids doodled in class, I practiced writing my A-B-C’s in cursive. This is a habit I still have today. I even came up with my own script. What did it look like? Well, basically, it looked like my hair. Very, very, very curly! While other students were learning about “World Religion,” there I sat, practicing my A-B-C’s. The other kids must have thought I was off my rocker but I didn’t care. I was expressing my curly, wonderful penmanship self. Take that conformist!
So I want to encourage you to get out there and grab and pen and send a letter. The good people in the Postal Service I’m sure would love to deliver something other than pizza ads.
No? Still resisting letter writing? Say that holding a pen for more than 5 minutes causes your hand to cramp up? Can’t get off the grid? Let me offer you a simple 4- step program to get you to letter writing status again.
Step 1: Start by sending a postcard. Send one to Aunt Myrtle and let her know that the weather in Pascagoula is fine.
Step 2: Send you’re mother a birthday card. Your mom will be so thrilled that she’ll run to tell Uncle Earl!
Step 3: Send a “Thinking of You” or “Just Because” card to your friend Betty. She’s got 2 kids, doesn’t get out to see the adult world much and she would love to know that somewhere, someone in the world is thinking of her.
And finally you’re ready to make the next and final step:
Step 4: Send a handwritten letter to your grandmother. Let her know how life is treating you, what funny antics the grandkids have been up to. Trust me; you’re gold when you do this. Your grandmother will have bragging rights in her Sunday School class for the next week.
Well, I need to close this blog. Off to see the wonderful sights in Pascagoula. Give my best to Uncle Earl!
Respectfully yours,
Laura
Friday, May 28, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
The Cope Girls Go Fishing
The hubs and I went fishing last week. The hubs is an avid fisherman, and a good one at that. Though maybe he’s tales are better than his catches, but that is par for the course for any fishermen. Anyway, he has been asking me for a while to go fishing with him and for the sake of our marriage, I went. Now I have been putting off going fishing for several years now. My reason is legit: it’s not because I don’t like to fish or know how to fish, quiet the contrary, it always aggravates my allergies when I go. But this year, my allergies have been better and feeling like I was almost immune to nature’s toxic air, I went. Heck, I even offered to go!
The hubs takes his fishing very seriously. He studies it and is always looking to improve. He scoffs at me because I have to fish with a bobber. He tells me that real fishermen don’t use bobbers. What does he know?! Have you ever looked at a bobber floating on the water? Its a beautiful scene.
As soon as we got to the lake, the hubs hooked me up (no pun intended) and I was ready to go. Then he quickly got to the fish. After a few minutes he looked up and noticed that I wasn’t fishing.
“Why aren’t you fishing?”
“I will. I’m just enjoying being outside, sitting in a lawn chair, taking it all in. Do you think this hat looks good with my outfit?” (It is a totally awesome pink, floppy hat! It totally rocked!)
He didn’t respond and just focused on the fish.
I did eventually fish. I cast the line about 12 times and caught 2 fish. Statistically, I rock! And I was ready to focus on something else, like taking a nap, reading a book and taking some pictures. The point was for us to be together and have a good time. Which we did. He doesn’t know how good he actually as it. Let me tell you why…..
When I was a kid, my Dad would take Bec and me fishing frequently. For my 10th birthday, my father actually took me to Wynn’s Sporting Goods Store in Maryville and bought me a fishing pole, which I still have. Heck, my grandmother even bought me a tacklebox. We would always go fishing above the dam at Melton Hill lake. Dad would set me and Bec up, and then he would try to get in some real fishing, while Bec and I just “played” fishing.
Sounds like a Hallmark card or a Folgers Coffee Commercial, yes? Ha! Anything but! Let me give you a real fishing trip with the Cope girls.
When we started really going fishing, I was around 11 and Bec was 6. At 11, I was a HUGE music lover. I was always with my tunes - be it ghetto blaster or walkman -but somewhere “America’s Top 40” was on, and I wasn’t going to miss it. So when we went fishing, I would take my walkman and get about 50 yards from Dad and Bec. I would put my own worm on and I was fine. The only thing Dad had to do is take the fish off of the line.
My sister, well, she was 6 and sitting on the bank waiting for a fish to bite didn’t keep her entertained for long. So most of the time, Bec was running up and down the bank playing or telling Dad “I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM, DADDY!” Now, the logical thing would be that Dad would put Bec’s rod up. But noooo! Not our Dad. He always left her rod in the water, cause a fish might bite. Maybe Dad was really trying to bait Bec into being still and creating a love in her to fish. If that was the case, he was using the wrong bait. She only nibbled at the bait, never fully took it.
So here’s the scene: one daughter shunning her totally uncool family while she listens to Wham! on her walkman, the other daughter yelling for a Dad to take her to the bathroom, and a father who really wanted to fish but had to do something with his kids. Naturally, by the time Dad got a nibble on his rod, both me and Bec’s rod would catch a fish and Dad would have to put down his rod to help us. All the while, Bec is just running up and down the bank yelling “I GOTTA GO TO THE BATHROOM!”
So as I sat there on the dock with the hubs, I just had to smile and laugh. I might not be fishing as much as he was, but I wasn’t listening to “America’s Top 40”nor did I say that I needed to go to the bathroom. Oh, and yes, nature’s toxic air did a number on me! I had the mother of all allergy attacks and was sick for 2 days after our fishing excursion. The hubs has it made! Marriage saved!
The hubs takes his fishing very seriously. He studies it and is always looking to improve. He scoffs at me because I have to fish with a bobber. He tells me that real fishermen don’t use bobbers. What does he know?! Have you ever looked at a bobber floating on the water? Its a beautiful scene.
As soon as we got to the lake, the hubs hooked me up (no pun intended) and I was ready to go. Then he quickly got to the fish. After a few minutes he looked up and noticed that I wasn’t fishing.
“Why aren’t you fishing?”
“I will. I’m just enjoying being outside, sitting in a lawn chair, taking it all in. Do you think this hat looks good with my outfit?” (It is a totally awesome pink, floppy hat! It totally rocked!)
He didn’t respond and just focused on the fish.
I did eventually fish. I cast the line about 12 times and caught 2 fish. Statistically, I rock! And I was ready to focus on something else, like taking a nap, reading a book and taking some pictures. The point was for us to be together and have a good time. Which we did. He doesn’t know how good he actually as it. Let me tell you why…..
When I was a kid, my Dad would take Bec and me fishing frequently. For my 10th birthday, my father actually took me to Wynn’s Sporting Goods Store in Maryville and bought me a fishing pole, which I still have. Heck, my grandmother even bought me a tacklebox. We would always go fishing above the dam at Melton Hill lake. Dad would set me and Bec up, and then he would try to get in some real fishing, while Bec and I just “played” fishing.
Sounds like a Hallmark card or a Folgers Coffee Commercial, yes? Ha! Anything but! Let me give you a real fishing trip with the Cope girls.
When we started really going fishing, I was around 11 and Bec was 6. At 11, I was a HUGE music lover. I was always with my tunes - be it ghetto blaster or walkman -but somewhere “America’s Top 40” was on, and I wasn’t going to miss it. So when we went fishing, I would take my walkman and get about 50 yards from Dad and Bec. I would put my own worm on and I was fine. The only thing Dad had to do is take the fish off of the line.
My sister, well, she was 6 and sitting on the bank waiting for a fish to bite didn’t keep her entertained for long. So most of the time, Bec was running up and down the bank playing or telling Dad “I HAVE TO GO TO THE BATHROOM, DADDY!” Now, the logical thing would be that Dad would put Bec’s rod up. But noooo! Not our Dad. He always left her rod in the water, cause a fish might bite. Maybe Dad was really trying to bait Bec into being still and creating a love in her to fish. If that was the case, he was using the wrong bait. She only nibbled at the bait, never fully took it.
So here’s the scene: one daughter shunning her totally uncool family while she listens to Wham! on her walkman, the other daughter yelling for a Dad to take her to the bathroom, and a father who really wanted to fish but had to do something with his kids. Naturally, by the time Dad got a nibble on his rod, both me and Bec’s rod would catch a fish and Dad would have to put down his rod to help us. All the while, Bec is just running up and down the bank yelling “I GOTTA GO TO THE BATHROOM!”
So as I sat there on the dock with the hubs, I just had to smile and laugh. I might not be fishing as much as he was, but I wasn’t listening to “America’s Top 40”nor did I say that I needed to go to the bathroom. Oh, and yes, nature’s toxic air did a number on me! I had the mother of all allergy attacks and was sick for 2 days after our fishing excursion. The hubs has it made! Marriage saved!
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