The Address Book

The old and the new.

My address books may not have carried much value over the years, except at Christmas when I yearly mailed cards and short stories to friends and family.  The year my parents died a few months apart, my sister and I felt abandoned and lost when Christmas time came.  Someone else lived on the farm, and the Miami Country Club, our second home, had burned to the ground.  In the midst of my Christmas heartache I found Mother's address book, with names and addresses of hundreds of friends they had met over the years.

That December I used my mother's address book and began sending cards to many of my parent's  friends, along with a short typed note explaining that our parents had died unexpectedly that year.  Most every person I contacted replied, and many of them shared hand written stories or pictures of mom and dad.

That year I learned the value of personal address books. In a distant way it kept my parents memory alive.

This year my old address book looked more like scribble than readable address. In the decades of that book friends had moved several times, some simply lost touch, while others died. I couldn't even read some of my own handwriting, as I searched for people and addresses that were current.  A simple solution, I bought a new book, one with a shining cover. Then began the task of writing out names and current addresses of people with whom I shared Christmas, birthday, or anniversary cards  With each and every name in my book I see that person and for a moment my brain scans through times we shared, through tears, hysterical laughter, somber moments, tough talks.

One year LaVonne's letter shared how her son had run through a plate glass window. When other people might have been shocked or worried, I laughed. Our son, Michael, had once run through our sliding glass door without bloody injury the day before we were to leave on a two week vacation in the yellow van. We had to hire a house sitter for a day or two until the glass company could be there to fix the door. Oh, such memories. 

Christmas cards are pictures on a world of people who have walked through my life and made it better.

That should have been the end of the story except this time, more people had died than I ever realized. It rattled me to realize how decades had passed.

I posted on short note on Facebook sharing my feelings. Barbara replied, "I hear you. We are at that age where we have friends dying all too often. I replaced my address book last year for the same reasons you mentioned."  Her words lifted my spirits.  Someone else shares my feelings. Her words were echoed through out the list of replies.

Still there was no answer for my heart on what to do about all the names of people who have died. Then another friend posted the answer that put me back on track. Debbie wrote, "One of my least-favorite book work tasks. I feel I am disrespecting a friend or loved one by marking out their name or deleting their phone number on my phone. I can't do it. In time, I start a new address book but their phone number will remain in my phone until I need a new phone..."

Thanks to Debbie's words, I noticed a place on each tab page of the new address book that stated 'Quick Reference.' A perfect place to list a name and hometown of a friend who has passed away from this earthly life.  Now for the next few decades my friends will have a new home in my address book, and a smile from me when I see their names.

Thinking back about address books and writing this story, I realized that there is more to the value of that book than just printed names. Addresses write our history. My stories come from 209 H st. N E,  3030 Oakland, Nebraska st, Canterbury st and more. We didn't have many pictures, so our words had to tell the story.

August 4, 1911, Hulst Holland, Peter de Bakker, Prosperity Mo, Amerika

Place was how families stayed connected with oceans between them. Letters told of babies dying, people moving, aches and pains of growing older, and other news of the day. The stories of our families, our genealogy are directly tied to place and time. 

I started writing pen pals letters in 5th grade  through addresses found in My Weekly Reader.  Then on vacation in the summer of 1959 at Branson, Missouri, I met the Kuhlman family. Susan and I immediately became friends and pen pals until the 1970's when we both had children and lost touch.  A few years ago during a trip that Jack and I took to St. Louis, I saw a highway sign that showed Mexico, Mo. I wondered whatever happened to my friend Susan.  Over the next week of traveling, thanks to Facebook, I found my long lost Pen Pal. A year later we met up in Mexico, Missouri and told stories all morning long.  Sadly, Susan in now in hospice care. I heard the tinkling of tiny china bells the other day and wondered when or if Susan had received her angel wings.

The ebb and flow of our lives will continue in the book of life. 

If you like this story you may also like these stories. Simply click on the link below.
Postcards from the Wild

Postcards from the Road


Postcards from Alaska

Pen Pals Lost and Found

Consumed by a Story