Tag Archives: Nostalgia

Old Handwritten Recipes

You should never trust an old recipe that doesn’t have a few stains or some food smeared on it.  If it’s not dirty or well-worn, then it probably wasn’t used very often to begin with and isn’t worth the effort to make. Continue reading Old Handwritten Recipes

Handwritten Love Letters

Buried on a shelf, behind the door of an unused closet, lies an old beat-up jewelry box.

The box itself was very unassuming. A faded pale blue with a simple gold embroidery, the cushy feel of padding like those mass-produced in the 60’s and 70’s.  But with a lift of the unlatched lid, a thousand thoughts and emotions poured out of the jewelry box, causing his head to spin and his heart to flutter.

The jewelry box was crammed full of letters written by his first love, handwritten memories on crinkled paper, some still nestled in their original envelopes.  What started as ‘Puppy Love’ had developed over time, as did the length and complexity of the letters themselves.

If the pile of letters, now shuffled like a huge deck of cards, were laid out from the very first kiss until the present day, they would tell the wonderful tale of a young love blossoming into maturity, the pains of separating after adulthood, and a final chapter that would never end, instead a friendship that would last forever.

There’s something warm and comforting, so personal, in holding a piece of paper on which is written the thoughts and feelings of someone who means so much to you, and whose style of script you’ll never forget.  It’s like having that person sitting beside you, though they’re not apart of your life or maybe never will be again, but they’ll never be gone forever.

Behind the creation of each letter, she had searched for an ink pen and a piece of paper, and had spilled-out her emotions with wet ink on a plain piece of paper.

Holding each handwritten letter with his own hands, reading each and every word she had written, he could clearly hear her voice.

And the jewelry box was placed back upon on the shelf.

P.A.R.

Aunt B’s Pictures

I was working in Aunt B’s basement yesterday, and she followed me down the stairs and began rummaging through some boxes, looking at old pictures.  The more that I looked, the more that I was amazed. Continue reading Aunt B’s Pictures

Self Medication

I was sitting at a bar one afternoon, hanging out with the regulars, just sipping on a beer and shooting the breeze.  I hadn’t been born or raised in the area, but had morphed into a bar fly through osmosis, averaging four or five visits a week, and talking a good game while possessing the ability to drink to an unhealthy level while still working a job for 60 hours a week. That made you normal, just one of the guys. Continue reading Self Medication

Life on the Mountainside

I wrote a very short story yesterday entitled You Know You’re in a Small Town if… which naturally had me reminiscing and dreaming about those days up on the mountain.  Some of us constantly need people around.  Some are happier being alone.  And somewhere in the middle is a really nice place to live. Continue reading Life on the Mountainside

You Know You’re in a Small Town if…

This is to be read at a Henny Youngman/Groucho Marx tempo.

So my Mom’s living in South Carolina and buys a retirement home up in the hills of the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia.  As is often the case, I’m not working and volunteer to live in the house while freeloading as I paint and remodel the new home.

Mom sends me a book to be delivered at the local Post Office.  She has a small P.O. Box at the office, but it’s not big enough to hold a book.

I walk in for the first time ever.

“Hi.  Yeeeah.  My Mom sent a book for me from South Carolina”

The lone Post Office employee tells me to wait for a moment and surveys a pile of packages behind her.  Then she grabs one.

“Here you go!”

“Thanks”

I went back to my car with the package, strapped-up with my seat belt, and started the engine.  And then it dawned on me.  I never mentioned my name or my Mom’s.  Never a P.O. number.  Just that my Mom had sent me a packaged book.

And it was the right package!

You know you’re in a small town if…