Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, May 13, 1990 TAG: 9005110423
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: E-1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: BETH MACY STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Don't forget to wash your feet, and be sure to write your mother. Sound familiar?
The Extra section's Letters from Mom project turned up an array of nostalgic images - some that make your eyes water, some that make you laugh out loud.
As a Mother's Day tribute, we asked readers to send us copies of special missives from mom. Thirty-eight people sent in cherished letters, one dating as far back as 1918.
Some were letters of encouragement during difficult times. Others were full of amusing anecdotes from home - you could almost smell the pot roast simmering in the oven.
One woman, Vinton's Faye Nagel, didn't send us a letter at all, but did say this: She's received more than 1,716 letters from her mother since 1957, when she left her Arkansas home with a new military husband and a promise from her mother to write every week.
"Fifteen moves, three years overseas and 33 years later, I am still enjoying my weekly letter every Friday," Nagel says, and adds as a postscript: "I also write her every week; we started when stamps were 3 cents - wish we had the money we have spent on postage."
Unfortunately we weren't able to print all of the letters. But we have compiled excerpts of a dozen or so, along with brief explanations from the daughters or sons who sent them in.
Read on and, as they say, pass the Kleenex.
`It takes some time'
Linda Konicki Hatcher of Roanoke sent in a touching letter from her mother, Cecile Konicki of North Providence, R.I. Cecile has diligently written to her daughter ever since she left Rhode Island to attend Virginia Tech in 1976.
After suffering a debilitating stroke in 1988, Cecile had to learn to write using her left hand. "These letters are so precious to me because each word takes such concentration and is scribed with love. . . . I study each word as carefully as it was written and place the letter very tenderly in a special drawer for safe keeping," Hatcher writes in her introduction. Here's part of a letter, which took Cecile more than three days to write:
". . . Writing is definitely much more promising with lined paper.
"It takes me some time to write a letter now, the thoughts don't come like they used to because we are confined and don't get to see anyone as often as we used to . . .
"I got a lovely card and note from you today - always makes my day. Love, Mom."
From the potato patch
Bill Moore of Fries had only been in college in Bristol, Tenn., about three weeks when his mother, Rebecca, mailed off this letter to him in 1983. Moore describes his mother as a "country woman with country ideals," and says her letters "brought laughter and comfort to a homesick freshman."
One thing's for sure: Garrison Keillor should hire this woman as a co-writer. Here's part of her letter:
" . . . Today was Labor Day, and true to form the Moores dug their potato patch. Roxie and Polly were practicing basketball, so that left Timbo, Rachel, Peary and me to do the work. We dug from 11 a.m. until 2:30 and finally finished with about six bushels. That Rachel is a tater-digging fool. She dug about four rows by herself while the rest of us rested in the shade. Peary finally made her quit because her face was red and then she cried. She said she hadn't got tired yet . . .
"I did substitute teach at Vaughan School this past Friday. You can believe me when I say that fifth grade is hell on wheels. Two boys got in a fight, right in the middle of math class, so I got right in it with them. I grabbed Danny Williams by the arm and sat him down real hard. And the other boy went back to his seat by himself. Daniel Jones brought a garter snake in a box for science class and it bit him three times. I kept thinking either Daniel or the snake one would die, but they were both still living at 3:15. Then Tammy Faulkner was hit in the stomach by - of course - Danny Williams and they were both in the office when I left school at 3:30.
"Everyone I meet asks how you're doing in college, and seeing as how you don't know how to write letters home yet, I just take a guess at it and tell them you're liking it just fine . . .
"Oh well, write when you can and be sure you keep up with your school work. We've all been missing you, especially today when we needed you in the tater patch.
"Be good and I love you, Ma."
`. . . Take a broom'
This poem came in from Roanoke's June Price. Her mother, Frances Price, who lives in Forest, wrote it for her when she graduated from high school in June 1972. "I have improved somewhat on keeping my room," June writes in her introduction. Here's part of the poem:
"Each time I go into your room,
It seems I always need a broom,
To make a path from door to door,
And just to know you have a floor . . .
Now don't get mad and weep and wail,
Cause someday you will have to tell,
The same to a daughter of your very own,
And you will fuss and gripe and groan,
Each time you go into her room,
And always have to take a broom.
Just one more thing I'd like to say,
That I thank God from day to day,
For giving me a daughter like you,
Without you I don't know what I'd do."
Next to the door
In 1983, when Susan Booth turned 24, she had been a Virginia state trooper for eight months, living and working 180 miles from home. Her mother, Peggy Booth of Vinton, knew just what to send to cure her blues.
"My mother spent hours working on this cross-stitch poem, and she couldn't have mailed it at a better time," Susan writes.
She hung the poem by the door so it was the last thing she saw before she went on the road - and the first thing she saw when she came home:
"I love you so my Daughter, and I never cease to pray that God will guard and keep you safe - within His love each day. May you be guided by His word in all you say and do, for much of the pride in life for me - is centered Dear Susan in you."
Prayer for a soldier
Cooper Via of Blacksburg sent a copy of this letter. Dated May 25, 1918, the letter was written from his grandmother, Rosa Via, to his father, Jimmie Lee Via, who was stationed overseas in World War I at the time.
The Vias owned a country store in Patrick County. Here's the last part of Rosa's letter:
"I feel that you are leaving here a gentleman, and if it be the Lord's will, I want you to return the same good boy.
"I feel that my very breathing will be a continual prayer to the Lord to guide and protect you in all your trials that you may meet with while away from home. Be a good boy, do your duty the best you can, obey orders, write some of your friends, write us, and come home every time they will let you. Your Mother."
Sharing motherhood
Connie Ridenhour received this letter from her mother, Vinton's Polly Agner, on her 50th birthday, when "I was feeling very low and very old," Connie writes. "This letter helped me share some of the good times of my mother's earlier years. And, I'm still enjoying her today!!"
Her mother wrote of life in the '30s, when she was still childless, and about how much her first child changed her life. Here's part of the letter:
". . . One day at work, everything started to spin and all of a sudden I realized I'd have to begin thinking seriously about someone other than myself. I prepared for your arrival with joy. I drank gallons of milk, ate loads of vegetables and walked miles a day . . .
After Connie was born, her mother wrote, was so proud to show you off. And still enjoy showing you off today!! Because I love you more and more, if that is possible. . . .
"Love is very hard to explain. I've never been the same since that day at Marshall Hall when I felt you move [in the womb] for the first time. Happy 50th Birthday. Mother."
Some suggestions
A year before she died of cancer, Irene Kanode wrote this letter to her daughter Annette, a 13-year-old who had been acting, well, like some 13-year-olds are wont to act.
Annette Simmons has been saving this letter for years - because she might need to copy it for a daughter of her own.
I am writing you this letter because it seems I can't talk to you anymore," Irene wrote. And then she offered her daughter these numbered, concise suggestions:
"1. Try to be more relaxed and be yourself - don't try to look like some movie star who has a million-dollar wardrobe, a hairdresser and a maid.
"2. Wear the clothes that we are able to give you and help us to keep them neat - you know I am always willing to take a tuck or hem anything to help you look nice.
"3. Remember that Kathy is older and should have a few more privileges than you, also more clothes - as your day will come later. . . .
"5. Try to be a kinder and more considerate member of the family - help out with your share of the work and earn your allowance, then we will all be happier. You will be prettier and more loveable because you will be pleased and proud of yourself. . . .
"You know my health isn't too good and also your Daddy's so please try to make us happy and not have to fuss all the time, for it isn't good for any of us."
For the future
Carol Jones is keeping a scrapbook of letters she's writing to her son Eric, now 7, to give to him when he goes to college or gets married. Here's part of a letter she wrote for him when he was 18-months-old:
" . . . You imitated everything. Once when we were driving down the road, someone pulled out in front of me unexpectedly, and I said, `Aw, s----!' I guess you realized from the guilty look on my face I had said something I shouldn't have, so you yelled `Sheet.' I couldn't help laughing, and when you saw me, you laughed, too, and proceeded to screech, `Sheet, sheet, sheet' all the way home.
"The day after your 18-month birthday, you said your first complete sentence. By now you were eating almost by yourself, but you still liked some attention every now and then. You were eating in your high chair, and I was sitting beside you, reading. I was quite surprised when you said, `Help me, Mama,' as if you had been talking all your life."
Passing on the joy
Catherine Woolwine sent a letter that her mother, Eula Burton, wrote her in 1970. Age 71 at the time, Eula had been recovering from a stroke and thought she would not be able to play her piano - her prized possession - again. Paralyzed for two years, her mother insisted in her letter that her piano be given to the children's department of West End Presbyterian Church.
"Mother did recover, but never let it be known to the church how her hands ached to again play her piano," Catherine wrote in a note that accompanied the letter.
"She got back to visit the church several times, looked in the room to see the piano, but did not let anyone see her tears, only joy that children were benefitting from its use. She died at age 86."
A treasured cradle
Pam Smith wrote of receiving a beautiful wicker cradle filled with flowers while she was in the hospital for the birth of her son. The cradle came with this note from her mother, Gerry Warren:
father sent me this cradle when you were born . . . he was so proud of his first born, beautiful, dark hair, big-eyed baby girl . . . who grew to be more beautiful in looks and spirit than we could have ever dreamed . . . It seems appropriate that you should have the same cradle in honor of your first born beautiful son, Adam."
Later, Smith's mother explained how she had retrieved the cradle from her attic, cleaned and repainted it and then taken it to the florist for flowers and ribbon. "This 30-year-old treasure still holds its original beauty and meaning, and has given me a special memory to hold on to," Pam says.
And wash your feet . . .
Missy Hendrick sent in a copy of a letter written in 1934 from her grandmother, Grace Johnson, to her father, Clarence Johnson, when he was 10 years old.
The letter was written while Clarence was visiting his aunt in Williamsburg, W.Va. Note that "the Hot" was '30s slang for the town of Hot Springs.
" . . . We sure do miss you. It sure is hot over here today, about the hottest day we've had I believe. James went to the Hot with Daddy today. Verna found your guitar pick this morning when she cleaned up our bedroom. How is Grandpa now? Do you get very hot over there? You must be sure and clean your teeth . . .
"Are you getting homesick? Chubby is all right. He barked lots yesterday. Are you getting by washing your feet at night pretty good? `Ha Ha.' . . . Be a good boy and be careful, and don't get hurt. Bushels of love. Mother."
`Age doesn't depress me'
Vicki Honer sent a letter written shortly after her mother's birthday in 1978. Her mother, Edith Newcomb, had just turned 66, and Vicki had sent her a birthday card in Oklahoma City and asked her if the thought of being another year older was depressing.
"It is her bittersweet insight that I have come to appreciate more and more each day," Honer writes. Newcomb died of lung cancer in May 1983. Here are excerpts from her letter:
No, age doesn't depress me except I realize I have so many things I'd like to do with so little time to do them in. How much one never knows. Just remember, my dear, your Mom loved life dealt to her with all the many experiences - some bad and forgotten and many good - including you, for one. I'd like to see what Shari and Sarah do with their lives, as well as Arlynne's and Lynne's children [her granddaughters]; and the development of the world in general - even politics, and the wonders of medical science in future years.
"Just think, my sister Loyce died following a gall-bladder operation (age 25) in 1940 but my dad survived the same thing at 86 years of age. The wonders of medical science.
"Myles and I have had many reverses that we can live with, or have so far, but we have good health for which we are grateful . . . You and Tom have had many reverses as well, so keep well, so you can try to do the things you wish to do and raise your children in the manner you wish. When they grow up to know more than you, don't be too harsh on them because it lasts only a little while, and each has their own lives to live."
by CNB