As I open this most precious, sacred-to-me gray plastic file box of family artifacts--letters, maps, pictures, news articles, and books-- I am instantly in a reverent state. Every time I open this file box to reminisce, explore and discover I find I am always affected by the amazing contents. The cool part is I always find something I missed previously.
This letter written by Erna Kirk (in 1975), is one of the pieces I recently "found." I have been through this family treasury box at least 20 times and somehow missed this until now. As I pick up the faded mint green pages to read it, the first sentence strikes me in a manner I find so compelling, I sit down to fully digest it. I linger and ponder on her words. "I am Erna Evangeline Aldredge Kirk." I am....to me, this is a sentence so surprisely beautiful in it's simplicity but there is a strength with it. I read the sentence penned on the faded pages over and over, taking it in before preceeding down the page. The penmanship is beautifully trained, a forgotten art in our modern time. As I glance at my haphazzard penmanship, I am reminded how true this is; my penmanship resembles a 1st grader learning cursive. Her language is well thought; her recall is set in story telling fashion intermixed with history. I read and I learn epic details of her life. For example, I didn't know that my great-great grandfather (Edgar Aldredge) died in the flu epidemic in 1918; I didn't know her mother's name is one of my personal favorites (Kate); I didn't know that my great grandparents (George E. and Erna Kirk) shared a date very familiar to me--Sept 4th--which was their wedding anniversary in 1915. This was also Grandma Ginny's birthday (1921), and the wedding anniversary of my maternal grandparents, Ed and Margie Cole.
As I read these pages, I feel connected to her. I imagine what it would be like to have her read this to me. I picture her sitting calmly at the dining room table at 2803 in Moline, dressed in her pretty blue dress with her glasses and hair maticulously curled. In the quiet disposition that I knew of her, I picture her telling me the story of her life, her family and of the events that transpired during her years. Even though it's not all on paper, I think about everything she lived through, what she experienced, what she saw, what she felt. I wish I had been more mindful years before to ask her questions. But I was 9 years old then...
And so, I share this first. It is completely out of historical order, yet I hope you are as touched by this as I was. Do share your Erna stories. And of course, there is much more to follow....
Cheers!
This letter written by Erna Kirk (in 1975), is one of the pieces I recently "found." I have been through this family treasury box at least 20 times and somehow missed this until now. As I pick up the faded mint green pages to read it, the first sentence strikes me in a manner I find so compelling, I sit down to fully digest it. I linger and ponder on her words. "I am Erna Evangeline Aldredge Kirk." I am....to me, this is a sentence so surprisely beautiful in it's simplicity but there is a strength with it. I read the sentence penned on the faded pages over and over, taking it in before preceeding down the page. The penmanship is beautifully trained, a forgotten art in our modern time. As I glance at my haphazzard penmanship, I am reminded how true this is; my penmanship resembles a 1st grader learning cursive. Her language is well thought; her recall is set in story telling fashion intermixed with history. I read and I learn epic details of her life. For example, I didn't know that my great-great grandfather (Edgar Aldredge) died in the flu epidemic in 1918; I didn't know her mother's name is one of my personal favorites (Kate); I didn't know that my great grandparents (George E. and Erna Kirk) shared a date very familiar to me--Sept 4th--which was their wedding anniversary in 1915. This was also Grandma Ginny's birthday (1921), and the wedding anniversary of my maternal grandparents, Ed and Margie Cole.
As I read these pages, I feel connected to her. I imagine what it would be like to have her read this to me. I picture her sitting calmly at the dining room table at 2803 in Moline, dressed in her pretty blue dress with her glasses and hair maticulously curled. In the quiet disposition that I knew of her, I picture her telling me the story of her life, her family and of the events that transpired during her years. Even though it's not all on paper, I think about everything she lived through, what she experienced, what she saw, what she felt. I wish I had been more mindful years before to ask her questions. But I was 9 years old then...
And so, I share this first. It is completely out of historical order, yet I hope you are as touched by this as I was. Do share your Erna stories. And of course, there is much more to follow....
Cheers!
