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

The Great Christmas Cookie Disaster

Sometimes pictures tell the story better than words, and sometimes things get in the way of a well planned blog.  I couldn't quite get organized in my head to send out a Christmas story with our Christmas cards, so I thought I'd write a blog about our year. This morning when I awoke, I must have hit the panic button when I realized that I had only two full days to write the blog, bake the cookies, fix the bean soups and the pasta salads, and whatever else popped up.

After the grocery list had been made I decided to first bake the GF Pumpkin cookies that I dearly love, then spend a few hours compiling our year in pictures for the blog. Three hours later I created a mess that even my friend, Terri Street, couldn't help me out of. 

The recipe called for:
1 cup softened butter
1/2 sugar
1/2 brown sugar
No problem. I put these ingredients in the big red bowl and set them aside.

Next, I blended one egg with a can of pumpkin.  

Then I got in a hurry because my mind strayed to my blog, and I wanted to share an especially funny story from our trip to Scotland, where we learned that "there is no bad weather, just inappropriate clothing." That was our first lesson in the cool wet climate filled with pasture land, rugged hills, and breezes off the great northern waters. How many layers of clothing can you wear and still walk, climb castle stairs, and play golf?   






I turned to pick up the Pamela's Baking Mix that is gluten free, forgot about cooking, and smiled remembering our Weaver cousin family reunion that we hosted in October.

We are all shining examples of Baby Boomers. I was born in 1947, Tom in 1948, Fred 1949, Dana 1950, Jonya 1951, Patty 1952, and Gary 1954. Sadly, our youngest cousin Gary died in 2007 and I inherited his lost and lonely little dog, who has become our vibrant  Lucy dog companion. Most of our children were able to attend and these cookies that I was about mix were a big hit with a family of 2-3 who eat gluten free foods.   

The buzzer on the oven reminded me that I needed to bake the cookies. So, I plopped the pumpkin and egg mixture into the 'uncreamed' sticks of butter and piles of sugar and brown sugar. Still not thinking about cookies and steps in the cooking process, I used my trusty hand held mixer to mix the cookie dough.  ACK!  

The mixture turned out with tiny yellow butter bits the size of couscous mixed with the pumpkin.  I stirred and stirred to no avail. In desperation I called Terri Street, my friend who knows how to cook like a chef and will laugh with me not at me.  She suggested I put small portions of the lumpy dough into my blender and see if it could save the dough.  If had remembered her exact words "small" I might have been successful. Instead, in frustration I dumped it all in the blender and hit MIX.  At that point I realized it was mixing only the bottom inch or

two of the blender. I start screaming in my head, where is the off button.  I dished out the top 3/4 of the mixture, took out the well blended part, and hit mix again. At last, I took my wooden spoon and tried stirring the mixture down into the blender, only to hear the blades go thunk thunk thunk when they hit the spoon. With the thunking and the lid off, I felt the pumpkin mix hit my cheek and saw the spots on the my glasses.  I punched the off button and sighed. 

By now I felt like a wild young scientists trying to save an impending chemical reaction. What more could go wrong. Do I dare go take the clothes out of the dryer and take moment to relax? Why not?  Leaving the kitchen with pumpkin from the floor to the cupboards I walked to the laundry room and promptly removed the jeans and sweatshirts all of which were covered with static cling Kleenex that flew through the air and stuck on me.  Finally, I giggled and picked up scattered Kleenex and shook out the sweatshirts in the garage. Now the garage looks like it snowed.  

At last I finished blending the mix and even feeling a hint of success with the mixture blended and not lumpy. I took a moment to clean up the area, foot mopped the floor all sticky with pumpkin, and to wash dishes. Imagine my surprise when I picked up the wooden spoon and noticed, for the first time, that the end of the spoon had been cut to shreds by the blender. My eyes scanned the horizon for pieces of wooden spoon, and then the realization hit me.

The slivers of wood were in my cookie mixture. Defeat!

I truly did run out of the house with spoon in hand yelling for Jack.  

Such love and admiration I have for my kind and gentle husband, who reassured me that I was not crazy. At his suggestion we threw out the orange blob I suggested that we go to buy two dozens assorted cookies from Fancy Cakes and then relax over lunch at 
la Baguette. 

Fancy Cakes is closed on Monday.  Amy Cakes is closed on Monday. No panic here. Their signs say open Tuesday.  Lunch as La Baguette soothes me and cheered me up with Christmas delight as I saw several friends. Just in case of closures Jack is shopping for more sweet ingredients to make either "Dawn's Ranger Cookies" or the memorable "Pumpkin Cookies."

I Am Woman, hear me roar.  Maybe Helen Reddy was not that good at cooking either. 

Merry Christmas, and Most Joyous Wishes to all.
Letty, Jack and Lucy