Mangas’ late mother Ruth’s last stock of stationery. | Submitted photo
I browsed through my stash of greeting cards earlier this month, hunting for notecards appropriate for writing Christmas thank-you’s. All I could find were a few glitter-covered cards that recipients never appreciate. Once they’re opened, glitter flies everywhere and the clean-up is a bear. I pitched the glitter-bombs and rummaged through another cabinet, looking for one particular cardboard box. I finally found it, pushed it to the back of a shelf.
That box held my deceased mother Ruth’s last stock of stationery. Mom was a prolific letter writer. She preferred writing letters on pads of inexpensive stationery. The notepads I kept are decorated in the old-fashioned style she preferred; bedecked with flowers and teapots and embellished with Hallmark sentiments, such as “Friends Make the World a Beautiful Place to Be.” There is one notepad, yellowed with age, that made me smile. Written in bold capital letters at the top of each page was: “MEMO FROM THE DESK OF RUTH DRACH.” My mother shared lots of “memos” (aka advice) throughout her life, both written and spoken.
Mother died in 2005, and I’ve been hoarding her leftover stationery. These notepads are part of the last physical evidence I have of her life. Well, I have a few other mementos … a few dishes, some photos and her hair-rollers and plastic roller-picks. We often had deep discussions when I “did” her hair for her. Sadly, most of her other belongings I’d kept, including letters she wrote to me, were lost in the flood that devasted Columbus in 2008.
I was in a quandary about the notepaper. Should I use mom’s precious stationery for writing thank-you notes … or should I keep hoarding it? On one hand, I could pass on a bit of her love of writing by using her notepaper, but on the other hand, I could keep hoarding it and bring it out now and then to savor sweet memories. I decided to use it. When my life is over and my boys clean out our house, they won’t have any use for flowery notepads. They’ll throw them in a dumpster. Today, everyone texts and emails. Handwritten notes have (mostly) gone the way of the horse and buggy.
I especially enjoyed writing thank-you notes to my two oldest granddaughters. Mom was gone long before they were born. Writing the girls’ notes on Mother’s stationery felt like passing on a bit of her love, and her essence.
When Mother’s health began failing in 1996, my first clue she wasn’t doing well was a sudden lack of letters from her. For most of my adult life, I could count on getting a letter from mother almost daily, written in her elegant handwriting. The envelopes were stuffed with newspaper and magazine clippings, too; articles she considered “must reads.” Most of the time I gave the articles she sent a perfunctory glance before throwing them away.
With 20/20 hindsight, today, I’d give anything to get a handwritten letter from mom, even one full of news clippings. My mailbox is mighty empty these days. No more grocery circulars, fewer catalogs, Christmas cards are dwindling, and thank-you notes are disappearing. Electronics have taken over communications. It’s more convenient, cheaper and so much faster. Cursive handwriting and handwritten letters are practically lost arts. But emails and texts are easily deleted and tend to disappear. Even if “saved,” they’re only read on electronic devices, while physical letters, on the other hand, can be held, felt and savored. A feast for the senses. I’m sure I’m fighting a tsunami of progress, but I’m going to keep writing handwritten notes now and then, at least as long as the stationery holds out.
Sharon Mangas is a Columbus resident and can be reached at [email protected]. Send comments to [email protected].
