Sunday, August 19, 2012

Paper Trails

I was sifting through a pile of books and journals yesterday, when a piece of paper fell out onto the floor.  Since things like this happen to me a zillion times a day, (oh tedious paper), I swept it up, getting ready to file it in the 'kids' drawings' pile, or if it was business mail, trying to make my way through the zooey living room to my desk to file it, or more easily, take it to the trash to toss it.  Preparing to give it the millisecond survey, I scanned it, and stopped and for a sweet moment, touched by the finding.  The paper was a piece of my mother's stationary; on it was a simple note from her, saying "Christa, Gone to get Abbie.  Be back soon.  Love, Mom"  It must have been written twenty years ago or so, from the looks of the paper, and definitely before her stroke eleven years ago, evidenced by her clear hand.  The paper took me back to the times of a simpler, less frazzled life, and it was good to behold, just to sit quietly and drink in the memories of my mother's pure love.  I like technology, needless to say, but I am happy to be reminded of the sweetness that only paper trails can leave.   Especially when they were left by her.

1 comment:

  1. A note to convey a meaning not completely revealed to you, written twenty years in the past. I can only imagine the kind of impact that would have had on you, especially as personal as it is for you. Best wishes for your blog. What were you doing at that time? This note would hardly have left an impression then, but carries so much more now. Who knows, maybe as a teenager, this would have been met with relief for some time apart. There is certainly something to be said about hand written notes on paper and photographs printed and placed in an album that bring us closer to the author, as opposed to the current age where everything is filed away digitally. Emotional connections are tenuous at best, but electronically storing them makes them even more sanitized, something about converting to absolutes of 1's and 0's.

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