My second favourite holiday is Thanksgiving. Actually, it might be a tie between the two. Regardless.
In honour of my co-favourite holiday, I will be posting everyday about being thankful.
30. My Grandfather’s typewriter.
My Grampa Webb writes me letters every few months. The letters are filled with descriptions of his and Gramma’s drives around various parks, their preparations of the gardens (even in the dead of winter), news of relatives that I have never met, and gossip from their coffee club at McDonald’s (or Burger King when McD’s ups their senior price on coffee). But there is also a story (in every letter) of how he managed to find the right ribbon for his typewriter. It is getting so old that the last time he had to buy the wrong format and take it apart to roll the new ribbon on the old mechanism.
I love these letters. They always end with Gramma’s news in her spidery handwriting usually repeating what Grampa has already relayed with a bit about the cat’s antics as well. (Why is it that Gramma’s always have spidery handwriting?) These letters started in University and have followed me through every move. They found me in D.C. for the few short months of my internship with National Geographic, my new apartment in Lakewood, my two apartments in Lexington, KY, our flat in Watford, and the most amazing, my Seamus on the circus. They sent me more letters when I was on the circus than any other living situation. These letters were filled with the usual news, but they also included their memories of my parents’ time on the circus, which were based on letters from my dad postmarked from all over the country.
The letters have slowed. In fact, they might have stopped, but I prefer to think that they have slowed. Now that they are not coming through the door every few weeks, I miss them. I’m so thankful for their time and their memories. I think it’s my turn to start the letters up again. They have such great stories to share and I want to catch them all. I remember a particular night at their house when Grammpa pulled out their high school year book and began telling us all about their senior year hijinks. This was quite a few years ago now. They have begun to tell stories again, now to Pete. As a new member to the family they are repeating the sagas of their nights at the Pavilion on Eucild Beach. No time like the present.