This is from an 8-page letter Mom wrote in about 1973. We were living poor in San Diego, and they came down from Washington for a visit. She writes about how nicely I had fixed up our dumpy apartment.
From the time I left home as a teenager until well into my 50's, I would get at least one letter a week from Mom. She did not hold back on personal advice or opinions.
Sorry to admit, I'd sometimes dread those multi-pagers written on plain notebook paper in her distinctive long hand. Now I'm glad I saved a few. She disliked and never really trusted email.
She was a fast and prolific paper correspondent, writing not just to her kids, but to dozens of other family members and acquaintances across the country. She was known for her fat envelopes filled with pressed flowers, odd clippings and blurry snapshots with "discard" written on the back, which made us laugh. I had no problem deciphering Mom's beautiful but unusual handwriting, having read it my entire life.
Well, they don't teach cursive anymore, and I guess if you can't write it you can't read it! Some of us remember penmanship class (more popular with girls than boys) and the perfect cursive alphabet always posted above the blackboard in grade school.
A friend mentioned that the National Archives is looking for online volunteers who can help transcribe thousands of historical documents written in cursive. By transcribing these digital pages, it makes it easier for young scholars, genealogists and history buffs to access the information.
I've had lots of practice with cursive, and might look into volunteering. It might be interesting (or dry as dust) depending on the document.
Farewell to January. Soon we find out what the groundhog has in store.
Have a good weekend.
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