Love Notes

I came across a box of old greeting cards and letters in the attic the other day and spent an afternoon reading them. I don't always save cards and letters, not even sure how these made it through my many moves. Among them was a stack of yellow post-it notes. I also have stacks of these precisely printed notes in various drawers and cabinets. It started when Jim and I were dating. We lived 2 hours apart, and when he'd leave my house and go home, I would find post-it notes stuck between plates in the cabinet, on bathroom mirrors, under sofa pillows, etc., and they said the kinds of things that we thrive on when we're in love, like "I'm thinking of you right this minute", and "Who knew I could love someone this much?" I couldn't throw those away, and I still can't. These days his notes are mainly to remind me to do things or to tell me when he'll be home, but there is still the occasional mushy one. To me, they all say, "I love you."

In the box I also found notes and Christmas cards from my childhood BFF who was killed in a car wreck the year my son was born. One look at her swirly, flamboyant handwriting, and I'm transported back to the summer evenings when we sat under her grandmother's sprawling magnolia tree and tried to sort out life's mysteries. And there are letters from my son when he was in the Navy, quickly scribbled, rambling sentences that don't always follow lines and columns, sharing his discoveries with me......... and a couple that sound lonely, and he told me I was his best friend. You keep notes like that.

And there's a birthday card from Mars, not the planet but a huge, white, bobtail cat who belonged to my friend Linda. Betwixt me and thee, even though a corner looks as if maybe he chewed me a message, I don't think Mars really sent the card himself, though he did appreciate the little play pillows stuffed with Catnip that I sent him, and he only bit me once, before I learned that he didn't want his belly rubbed. Linda and I have drifted apart, but I called her that day, and she seemed pleased. We're going to lunch together as soon as the weather is nice.

I'm not a Hallmark kind of girl, and I think the greeting card business stole some of the world's creativity. It's so much easier to spend 3 minutes choosing the perfect card than to write a heartfelt letter or create something beautiful on our own. I sent someone a virtual digital art birthday card. It was a painting I did just for her........ she made it known that I had dropped the ball in our yearly exchange of cards. I wanted to tell her that I'm not in a league with Hallmark, but people do pay for my art; I didn't. I went back to our routine, and truth to tell, those mass manufactured, commercial cards can take on a beauty all their own when kept packed away for several years; maybe like wine, they need to age.

These days, I receive more notes and cards via the internet than by snail mail. My day is brighter for each quick note that's sent my way. I doubt I'll meet my online friends; they live in my computer, but they are as real as any friends I've ever had. And speaking of friends, last week, I received a message on Facebook that said, "Are you Cathy Jackson? If so, reply to this message!" It was Trish, the cousin of my departed BFF. I was so glad to hear from her, and we promised to stay in touch this time.

I save some of the emails that touch my heart or make me smile, a virtual box of memories. These and the hodge podge of notes from the other decades of my life signify that Cat Bounds has been loved. I must admit that I do miss seeing familiar handwritings or even a kitty-chewed corner of a card; 50 years from now, I wonder if there will even be paper cards and letters. Maybe my tattered boxful of memories will end up in a flea market, and someone will take them home and cherish them, just a little bit.

Notes to My Grandmother

Just a few yellowing photographs,
Stories told by my aunts,
Glimpses of memory that may not, in truth, be memories,
These are all I have of you.

But I feel you
In my veins, in my laughter and my tears,
I know you because my breath is yours,
And my eyes see the world as you did.

And there is the longing
For the warmth of your arms around me,
The last time your lips brushed my cheek,
For the last time I was safe.

I daydream, sometimes, about
Bringing you pretty things,
Baubles and bright colors you never had,
And a pink daisy painting I did for you.

Of Purple Trees and Other Bits of Wisdom

You know how, when your children are little, you always mean to write down the funny, sweet things they say and do, and hopefully you remember to write down a few? Public school teachers hear a hundred fold as many quotables from their students that we think we'll never forget. I know I've forgotten most of them, but with school starting all over the country, I was thinking about my son and my former students today.

It was actually pretty smart of my Dave to pick up on plural nouns when he was just 3, and when he wanted one piece of lettuce, it was a "letta" just as one piece of cheese was a "chee". And he kept secrets really well. He loved to paint rocks and painted one that looked exactly like a Razorback hog and wanted to give it to my sister for Christmas, but I told him we would keep it a secret; as soon as she walked in, he ran to her and said, "Aunt Nan! I painted you a Razorback, but it's a secret!" He gets this ability from me.

Then there was Dudley in my 9th grade English class. I swear to God his name was Dudley, and pretty much everything he said sounded like a joke, but he didn't mean it that way. I remember handing out test papers, and the one I put on his desk happened to be upside down. "Uh, Mrs. Finley, I think you printed the tests wrong!" And there was the time I was explaining the pros and cons of something or other in our literature study, and half the class was totally puzzled because they thought I was saying frozen pecans.........I guess you had to be there. And there were the 3 years I counseled 500 kindergarteners. I probably could have filled a notebook with their cute chatter, but most of it has slipped away. I do remember Robert, who often had accidents in his pants. The clean clothes closet was just off my office, and when the teacher walked drippy Robert past my door, I said, "Robert, did you tinkle in your pants?" He said, "No, ma'am, I just peed in 'em a yiddle."

Of course sometimes they're smarter than we are. When Rani was first learning to jabber a few words, she said from her car seat behind me, clear as day, "Purple trees". I said, "Oh how sweet! She thinks the trees are purple! No, baby, the trees are green." About that time I saw where she was looking, and all the tree trunks had splashes of purple on them, as posted land............. And the first time 7 year-old Stewart spent the night with us, I put him to bed in a small guest room we'd never used. Minutes later, he was beside me saying, "I can't sleep. There are lights on the ceiling." Leading him back to the bedroom, I explained comfortingly that the lights he saw probably were headlights from the roads that wound up the hills and sometimes shined through the trees into the house. We turned out the light, settled onto his bed, and I looked up to see dozens of glowing lights on the ceiling, tiny stars, placed there by the previous owners for their children. After we talked about them for a minute, he was fine.
Moral of the story: If it makes you smile, laugh, or tear up, write it down.

One Woman's Treasure.......

My Aunt Tiny never learned to talk, not so most of us could understand her. She was born with a speech handicap that today would probably be reversible but which kept her at home forever with my grandparents. My grandmother was very protective of her and treated her as if she were an invalid, but she could learn as well as anybody and loved to quilt and garden. We all loved her very much, but what do you get for someone's birthday or Christmas when she already has everything she wants or needs? She loved pretty trinkets and figurines, and so that's what the family gave her.

When my sister Nan I and were little, Aunt Tiny's room was off-limits because it was filled to overflowing with her delicate glass menagerie, but sometimes we'd be allowed to walk carefully into the room and sit on the foot of the bed for a few minutes and gaze at the glittering display of ceramic, crystal, and blown glass figures crowded together on dresser tops, on shelves and in glass front cabinets. We held our breaths in reverence, speaking to each other in whispers as we pointed out pieces that caught our eye. Aunt Tiny, who wasn't the one who made the rule that kept us out, would be standing at the door, smiling and eyes twinkling as she enjoyed our delight over her collection. She was so loving and generous and would have given us anything we wanted, but we knew better than to ask because we'd have been scolded later.

You know how, when you're a child, everything seems larger? Well, my favorite piece among the hundreds was a delicate glass reindeer, with red antlers and a silver body. I remember it as being graceful and tall, maybe 18 inches high. It was always the first thing I looked for in Aunt Tiny's room.

My grandparents died, both nearing 100, in a nursing home, and Aunt Tiny went to live with my mother. When she, too, passed away, and my mother was selling her own home, I went up to help with the moving sale. As I browsed around through furniture, table scarves and bric-a-brac that brought back childhood memories, I stopped short and drew in my breath! There, tossed onto a box of junk was the glass deer! (But it was no longer 18 inches tall. It's actually about 6 inches in height.)I know my hands were shaking as I picked it up, certain that such treatment had resulted in broken legs or antlers. No breaks or chips, only a little of his silver had deteriorated, but I would have loved him in any condition. I turned to my mom and asked softly, "Can I have this?" She said of course, take anything I wanted, but I had the treasure I wanted in my hands and quickly took it to my car, wrapped in a towel.

I've since found out that the mercury blown glass deer are antiques from Germany. There are 2 (not half so pretty as mine) on Ebay right now, "as is", for $75 + $10 shipping. My glass reindeer lives quietly in my bedroom, in a glass box that holds beautiful memories of my darling Aunt Tiny, but I'm sure he misses his friends and the days when excited little girls crept into the room to admire them.