As a homesick
middle schooler away at church camp for the first time, Grandma
Steele's letters were a lifeline. She spoiled me with multiple
letters during that one-week period. Each day after lunch, the camp
director would call out the names of campers who had received mail
that day. I received at least one every day. Her camp
correspondence gave me a camp identity that I was proud of: recipient
of high volume mail. It was an embarrassment of riches—the kind of
embarrassment in middle school that can be endured, to be sure.
I lived in the same
town as my grandparents, so until this week away at camp, there would
have been little reason for her to write me letters. Four years
later, my family would move away and more letters would come my way.
I have a box
devoted to our correspondence. Those letters from camp are missing
and I am holding my breath that I will find them next time I visit my
parents' home.
It is this grandma
who passed down her love of words to me. Sitting down to read one of
her letters was really like being in the same room with her. She
wrote the way she spoke. This is a gift now that she is gone.
Another gift that
time and perspective have given me is the ability to come to terms
with the unusual family dynamics that emanated from this kindred
woman. These dynamics were contradictory and confusing for me as a
child. Being a daughter-in-law and being a grandchild at Steeleville
produced two very different experiences. Twenty years of
exploration and excellent counseling have taught me that two opposing
perspectives can both contain truth. I was exposed
to this lesson early in life and in recent years have come to
understand its power. I have gushing experiences and memories of my
grandma while others have less positive anecdotes.
This is okay, as it turns out.
Both of these things can exist together. I used to feel bad about
it, but turning forty has changed that for me.
My experience with
my grandma is my story, so it's the one I'm going to tell.
Of all the things I
collected for my time capsule, the three letters my Grandma Steele
sent me between my sophomore and junior years of college are the most
poignant. They have the strongest time traveling power, too. Stowed
away in those letters for me to rediscover again and again is my
grandmother's love for me.
She sent money in
nearly every letter she mailed. That's not why I love her letters,
but one of the unique features of each letter is the fact that she
would snip a short piece of masking tape and tape the currency to the
inside of the letter or card. I'm not quite sure why she did it.
Maybe she was afraid a gust of wind would be present when I opened
the letter and the money would blow away. This was one of her
quirks, and I love it. The money has long been spent, but those snips
of masking tape are firmly in their place.
You don't have to
have known her to get a sense of who she was as my grandmother in the
letters below.
“after a wild,
rainy nite! Wednesday Morning
Hi Julie Dear!
A happy surprise
in Steeleville's Mailbox. “Wuthering Heights” - Now here's the
deal. YEARS ago, I saw that movie!! Sir Lawrence Olivier was the
star, and (I think) Merle Oberon was the female lead. That show has
“haunted” me for years- it was set in the bleak, moorish, cragy
hills of Scotland, and for some reason, every once in a while, my
mind has gone back to it. So, you can bet your boots, I'm already
reading it. Emily Bronte goes into such detail, so it begins slow.
But how delighted I am to have it here for my reading. Thank you.
I'll really enjoy!
Can hardly
believe it's time for you to be “packing out” for your third year
at Graceland. Where did this summer go?...(flip flop) [her
phrase for page turn]
What a blessing
to be your Grammie at Steeleville
May God Bless
[postmarked
May 23, 1995]
Hi Julie Dear!
Well, now, if I
could speak French, we'd have a chat! ha. You're bilingual! How about
that!
I know it was
exciting in Canada, and opened up a whole new “world” for you to
think about and enjoy remembering.
I am so delighted
over the beautiful, inspiring, and “weepy” Grandma card you chose
for me. I read and read it.
I called, but
missed you at Graceland before you went on your trip. I knew you
were busy, busy, but took a chance of reaching you. My love and
prayers went every inch of the way with you.
You and Sarah are
your “father's daughters” when it comes to flying!! So glad you
both like to fly and are capable doing it “solo.” That means
you'll always be able to get where you're going as you venture about.
I know it's good
to be home...
We'll keep in
touch via AT&T. Call anytime—and hang up, then I'll call you
back in a few minutes so we can chat!
Again, Welcome
Home! And I'm so proud of all the excellent work and activities you
took part in at Graceland this year- and thanks for including me.
Always always
what a joy and privilege to be your
Grammie at Steeleville
May God Bless
Hugs
Hugs
[postmarked January 3, 1996]
She added musical notes next to her return address to signify the
happy birthday song to me.
Letter accompanying a card:
Julie Dear,
If this can be the start of a year for you that will hold half of
the love, the excitement, the imagination, the joy, and the love of
our Dear Lord that YOU continue to give to me and others in your
life, then You are in for a wonderful, wonderful year, my dear
precious Granddaughter. It's such an honor to be YOUR Grammie at
Steeleville
Hugs
Hugs
May God Bless
I
re-read this letter and reflect on what she would think of how I've
spent my 40th
year celebrating. She would clap her hands together and gush about
all the fun things I've done. We would sit on her green “devan”
and talk endlessly about each one. The conversation would be
punctuated by stories from her own life and I would drink in every
word. Since she wouldn't have access to my blog, I'd print out all
of my essays about my activities and she'd read them. She'd pause,
point at a particular line or phrase and tell me that she liked how I
wrote that or ask me to tell her more about it. Just another one of
her ways of communicating her love for me—caring about my words, my
craft.
This
daydream—it's a balm.
In
case it isn't clear already, I miss this woman. Desperately. The
idea that I should have to live the rest of my life without her
feels like a great injustice to me. She understood me—my quirks and
eccentricities—in ways that few in my life have. She reveled in
the things that made me different from everyone else and her revelry
helped me feel good about myself. It shored me up. She showed her
affection for me in hugs, kisses, pats on my arm, and soothing words.
She also nurtured me through our shared laughter. Oh my word, did
we laugh! Her absence does not get any easier with time, but these
letters she sent bring her right back to me.
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