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Love Letters

Happy Friday everyone. Peace, LOVE & Mickey Mouse. Lorie Sheffer returns today to share a story – a trip back in time. Take it away Lorie:

Well, I heard over the radio that it’s all over now. I’ve been on pins and needles all week. Wish I were there with you. This is one of the happiest moments of my life. Now I know, Darling, what’s in store for me, that’s why I’m so happy.

We now soon can start our peaceful struggle. It will be a peaceful and pleasant one, I know. Still know nothing of my furlough, now back to the suspense of waiting to see you, Darling.

As ever, all my love and kisses,

Frank

The postmark says August 15, 1945 and the return address is from Camp Ritchie, Md.

This was one of a stack of love letters that my husband’s Aunt Grace received from her husband, Frank. He passed away in 1974, she in 1998. I love to brew a pot of tea and drink it from a really nice old china cup while reading these letters. I knew Aunt Grace. She was a lovely woman. Now I feel as though I also knew Uncle Frank. They were playful, romantic and very much in love. Sometimes I get out an old slate record, crank up my antique Victrola and listen to some background music while reading through their huge stack of beautifully handwritten love letters. I have learned that they loved music and they loved to dance. They were also the parents of my dear friend Mary. We found the letters with her belongings after she died this past winter.

While I appreciate the convenience of email and the clear sounds of music downloaded onto my computer, somehow they pale in comparison to the scratch of an old record and the sight of a handwritten letter. The romance is undeniable, and it makes me sadly aware of how long it’s been since I’ve taken a real letter from my mailbox.

It was also through old letters that I learned of my late friend’s Aunt Irene. She had a PhD in biology and she worked on some projects for the space program when it was in its infancy. She also was accepted into a research program in Sweden. Never married, she lived in a house that sat on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. The photographs are amazing. What makes this so remarkable is that Irene, her Polish name was Eryna, was born in 1914! This lady was WAY ahead of her time. She died 4 years ago, and I regret never having met her in person.

Soon I will tie Frank and Grace’s letters with the satin hair ribbon I found them in and place Irene’s letters back in their little box. I cannot stand the thought of throwing them away so I will make room for them on a closet shelf.

Maybe, just maybe, I will shop for some pretty stationery and a nice pen, and spend an afternoon catching up on correspondence. How nice for someone to go to their mailbox and find a real letter; how nice if they respond in kind.

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