Memory DNA

Image courtesy of Svilen Milev, www.efffective.com

I remember the hat you mentioned. Your brother said it made me look old. I still have that hat, but, I don't need it to look old. 

Yesterday I received a letter back from my Uncle F. In my letter to him I had recalled a roller coaster I once rode with him and how he lost his hat when the ride went upside down.

Never mind that the ride was some 30 years ago -- it immediately comes to mind when I think of Uncle F.

Stories like these -- an amusement park mishap, my Great Aunt L using colorful language to make my brother behave at the Thanksgiving dinner table, the time I foolishly took on my Uncle C, a real estate agent, in a game of Monopoly -- make up our family DNA. Just as important -- maybe even more so -- as our real genetic strands, memory DNA helps define us, gives us an irrevocable sense of place no matter where we roam.

Of course, just as with the real stuff, not all memory DNA is perfect -- alongside the silly and the funny there is the serious and sad, the illnesses and deaths and divorces. Which, perhaps, makes the happy moments all the more important: not unlike the stronger parts of our genetic code, recollections of better times can reinforce and heal us amid painful struggle.

I also remember taking you and your brother for a short flight in the Taylorcraft. Your brother has told me that that ride gave him an interest in flying. I am enclosing a copy of my logbook entry for that flight.

I was so touched to see the logbook entry from 1979. That airplane flight, a roller coaster ride, years of Christmases and Easters and everything in between -- no one else has my exact combination of memories. More so than my flat feet or straight hair or blue eyes, my memories, thankfully, make me who I am.

Yesterday morning, before receiving the letter from Uncle F, I wrote to my Aunt C. She is someone with whom I associate not hats, but shoes -- stilettos, in fact.

... Your ability to walk gracefully in those shoes, in any situation -- I will never forget the time you came to see me in Georgetown at my hotel, and we walked to that restaurant across the icy bridge. You did it, skillfully! Might seem like a weird thing to mention or admire, but I'm telling you, as someone who isn't always as sure on her feet, I'm in awe.

Obviously her footwear isn't all I associate with Aunt C, with whom I spent many a holiday as a child and who, a decade later, gave me advice about quitting smoking (our chat didn't yield automatic results, but it certainly got me started on the path of giving up cigarettes for good). More memories, more DNA.

My Uncle F closed his letter to me by mentioning how I have a great husband (I do) and how my stepson and son are lucky to have been born into such a loving family (we're lucky to have them). One of my greatest hopes is that my husband and I can help the boys build their own "memory DNA" -- a lifetime of experiences uniquely their own.

Family Matters, Part II

As I wrote tonight to M, my brother's mother-in-law, I was reminded how fortunate I am to belong to not only my blood family, but the extended family I have been privileged to inherit.

(My brother) became your son-in-law and you embraced his whole clan--mom, dad, sister, sister's husband and stepson too. It really feels good when to gather for Christmas or whenever as a big family.

Early on in The Letter Jar Project I wrote to M's brother, who shares his sister's welcoming spirit. I recounted to him how I will never forget a special Christmas spent at his house, and the way he reached out to my stepson.

It really meant a lot to me when you sat with (my stepson) at the piano ... I think the trip stressed him out a little because he didn't know any of my extended family, but he really enjoyed playing the piano and really enjoyed as you sat with him and taught him a little about playing. It meant a lot to me to see him relax and have a good time doing that.

I feel grateful that our holiday gatherings are filled with such warmth and love, and it doesn't matter who is directly related to whom.

A few days ago I wrote about my blood family, and how they make me feel rooted no matter how far I roam--they are my place to come home to. Writing tonight I realized that family, that welcoming place, is defined less by genes and more by the bonds we form and the care we show each other.

M, for example, was incredibly supportive and interested during my pregnancy last year. I was terrible at giving updates, but M still checked in regularly by e-mail and Facebook to see how I was doing.

And the blankets you and N (M's daughter, my brother's wife) made--so beautiful. I was so touched. Sometimes when I'm rocking my son to sleep at night I'll have one draped over him, and he likes to run it through his fingers while he falls asleep. Thank you again for such a loving gift.

I ended my letter to M by noting how I've come to understand that my son and stepson are parts of an ongoing story--my husband and I are building our family so that we can be roots for the boys and their families someday. And more than ever, I understand that it is not only our duty, but it is also our privilege.

A SURPRISE COMBINATION OF TWO OF MY PASSIONS: I've always loved discovering new music, and was intrigued to read recently that the new Arcade Fire album, The Suburbs, was inspired by love letters that frontman Win Butler wrote to a sweetheart in high school. He explained the song "We Used to Wait" to Britain's NME magazine:

"In high school I had a letter-writing romance with a girl. I was trying to remember that time... waiting an entire summer, pretty much half a year, the anxiousness of waiting for letters to arrive. All day every day there's almost this cloud of feeling hanging over everything. We'd (his family) be in Maine, I'd walk down to the post office and come back… the whole day was consumed by that feeling."

A song about the "anxiousness of waiting for letters to arrive." How completely cool--I must check out the song and the album. In the meanwhile, you can check out more of the NME  interview here.

Family Matters

Over the last few days I have written to two of my cousins, T and C, both on my father's side of the family.

I see T maybe once or twice a year, and C even less frequently, and yet I still feel a closeness to both of them.

You are still dear to my heart as part of my family, part of who I am and where I came from, I wrote to C. I still cherish the memories of hanging out with you and your brother ... Like I told T in a letter to her, it's nice to know that no matter where I wander in the world, my family are my roots.

It's true. No matter what branch of which family tree we're talking about--my father's side, mother's side, my husband's family--the shared experiences, inside jokes and preserved traditions feel like as much of who I am as my blue eyes or flat feet. And speaking of genetics, there is a certain comfort in knowing that I represent my family tree in not only my appearance, but through inherited personality traits I am proud to claim.

I told C that I hope our families can get together again sometime soon. I particularly love watching my dad, Aunt P and your mom together--there is definitely a family brand of humor and they just feed off each other's jokes. I always feel like I'm in on a family secret when around them. I guess I can hope that our boys feel that way someday when they think about me and my brother, or my husband and his brother (who are pretty funny together too).

While I certainly have enjoyed writing the many letters that represent places I've gone--to college, to new jobs, to relationships, to church, to therapy--it's also meaningful to write some that remind me where I started out.

REMEMBERING OUR TROOPS: In my letter to C I thanked him for serving in our nation's military--he has my respect, admiration and gratitude. That got me thinking about maybe writing a letters to soldiers, and a little searching uncovered the letter-writing team of Soldiers' Angels. I am going to check them out.

Connection, Reflection, Collection

Yesterday when I went to my mailbox there were exactly two items in it: both personal letters for me, responses to letters I had written.

One was from my husband's aunt C. The other was from J, a former coworker. Both remarked how receiving my letter caused them to reflect on other letters they'd received and sent, and how letters touch them in ways that e-mail and Facebook do not.

"My first letter recollection was from my grandma in Missouri, my mom's mom," wrote Aunt C. "She religiously wrote a weekly letter to us on paper exactly as you had used. Her news always included the weather and a garden report in the summer ... In college I would write home and frequently write my heartthrob, Uncle J. We have kept some of them."

And J wrote, "As I was spring cleaning over the last few weeks I found several notes I had received over time. It's an odd thing, I know, but I keep cards and letters I receive from friends and family. It's a little 'pack-rattish' but, as I rediscovered recently, it's so wonderful to go back and see how I touched other people's lives (through thank you notes and letters) and how other people have touched mine."

Actually J, I don't think it's odd at all--I too love going through the boxes of letters and cards I have kept from friends and family. "Pack-rattish" is how I would describe my one time obsession with keeping all the issues from my Martha Stewart Living subscription, as if somehow I would one day be inspired to tear through dozens of (mostly unread) issues and unleash a homemaking storm. Not so much--Martha got recycled. But cards and letters? I'd no sooner discard those than I would the warranty on the dishwasher or the DVD player manual.

"E-mail gives people the opportunity to communicate, but it's not without its drawbacks," C wrote. "It is too easy just to read one after another without taking time to reply, which is something I am trying to do--reply."

"I am a huge fan of handwritten letters (for many reasons) and have been since I was a child," wrote J. "It's probably one of the reasons I try to send postcards to as many people as possible when I travel ... it does make a more meaningful connection than Facebook which is at most times superficial and at the best a way to stay up to date--but it isn't very meaningful on a deeper level."

They're both right. Electronic communication and social media are in so many ways fantastic developments, connecting people in ways that Samuel Morse and Alexander Graham Bell and the rest of our ancestors simply could not have imagined. These days handwritten letters are called "snail mail" for a reason--definitely not the way to go if speed is what you need. But if you're looking for connection, and reflection, and a way of building your own historical collection, it's in your hands.

SPEAKING OF SNAIL MAIL: I love these bloggers who have embraced the term and turned defamation into celebration. Check out Snail-Mail Aficionado, Snail Mail Madness and Viva Snail Mail!

"How are you? I am fine."

Tonight I drew from THE LETTER JAR the name of my cousin K.

I smiled as soon as I put pen to paper, remembering  how K and I corresponded as young adults--she in Colorado, I in New York. I wrote her dozens of letters, and I'm pretty sure they all started exactly the same way:

Dear K:
How are you? I am fine.

I shared that memory with K right away, noting that I had chosen a consistent opening that was upbeat, if not all that original. The more I wrote however, the more I realized that those six words probably sum up as well as any the theme of many of my most gratifying letters.

I haven't spoken to K in a while, and so I indeed wanted to know how she was. Granted, it was a little trickier than when we were adolescents--Did I ask about her daughter H, whom I'd heard through another family member was having problems getting her life in order? Should I acknowledge her parents' health issues, or was I not supposed to know about them? How did I sidestep the issue that I could not remember what K did for a living?

Ultimately I decided that there really was no point in taking the time to write a letter if it wasn't going to be heartfelt and genuine. I really did care how H was doing, and K's parents as well. And trying to write as if I remembered anything about K's job would be obvious and lame.

My mom told me about your dad's recent health concerns, and your mom's; please know they are in my thoughts and prayers. I've kept H in my thoughts too--I understand she has struggled a little being out west. I'm sure that has to be hard on you.

I feel a little out of the loop when it comes to what you've been up to ... I hope you're enjoying stress-free and fulfilling days.

I then went on to tell K, as I have so many other letter recipients, that life has been good to me. Listing off what I have to be grateful for--namely my son, stepson and husband and an impending holiday visit from my brother and his sons--I experienced a bit of that joy I used to feel when I was 11 and would recount in my letters how school and trips to the beach and library and mall were keeping me happy and busy.

"How are you? I am fine." It's a simple letter writing premise, perhaps, but it also feels like a good one. It seems a good letter not only details the activities of the letter writer but shows genuine interest, through specific acknowledgments and questions, in the life of the letter recipient. I can appreciate the gentle reminder  to view my cup as half full and not get too wrapped up in myself.

My letter to K also served to remind me of the importance of family. When I was young, my family would drive almost every summer from New York to Colorado to see K's family. My brother and I had a blast with K and her brother, riding a go-kart around their huge yard, playing with their dogs and just generally finding ways to goof off. Reflecting on the fun we had makes me all the more determined to make sure my kids spend time with their cousins, creating their own special memories.

STAYIN' ALIVE: My letter to K wouldn't have been complete without recalling the music we shared. K was a little older than I, and I always looked forward to the bands to which my more sophisticated cousin would introduce me. Thanks K--I still love The Bee Gees!