Is it Love or Lactose Intolerance?

Is it Love or Lactose Intolerance? 

Six years into retirement, I finally tackled the Clean-Up the Boxes in the Basement Project. One good-sized cardboard carton was full of letters that I received from various friends and family members beginning when I left the family nest in 1975 to attend university. I come from a long line of Letter Hoarders and I’ve been dragging those letters around for 43 years. Why, you might ask. Good question.

Box of History

I sorted the letters into piles with the intention of returning them to the people who wrote them, so they could revisit themselves 43 years ago. They could do with them what they wanted—read them, share them, frame them, burn them.

Sorted Piles of Letters

When I delivered the little bundle of personal history to my sister, Kathy, we immediately tore into them and spent the evening reading them aloud. We had a rousing time, visiting our teen-aged selves. My 30-year-old daughter and my 63-year-old husband/room-mate were present for the entertainment. When we left after two hours Emma commented that she had not laughed so hard in a long time, maybe not in her whole life! What was so funny? Imagine Emma getting a glimpse of her mother at 18 and her aunt at 16. What a trip!

Emma at the Reading

Kathy’s “voice” was strong, distinctive and colourful. The topics were intriguing and adolescent. She was in grade 11 at the regional high school and had our brother “Gordo” as her math teacher. “Barb, he sings in math class. Today he was singing Rhinestone Cowboy, and I slid right under my desk and onto the floor.”

Like a Rhinestone Cowboy

Gettin' cards and letters from people I don't even know...

Of course the other students found out that Gordo and Kathy were siblings. Mr. Math Teacher gave it away one day when he said in frustration to his math-challenged sister, “I can’t believe we were borne from the same mother!” Soon after a male student pointed out the familial resemblance. “Barb, he said Gordo and I had the same beer bellies and the same sideburns!” 

Family Resemblance

The Rhinestone Cowboy was apparently oblivious to some of the shenanigans in his class. “Lennie sits behind me in Math class and he takes his pencil and plays with my ear.”

L+K=MP

(Lennie and Kathy equals Math Problems)

But, according to the letters, it wasn’t Lennie who tickled her fancy. It was Jimmy. 

Burning Cheeks

Adolescent Angst

"When I think or write about him, my cheeks burn like when I eat cheese." Was it love or lactose intolerance? Who knows. Kathy had a violent side as well. In one letter, she expressed her anger toward some poor victim saying, “I want to stick a knitting needle in one ear ‘til it comes out the other, crooked!” I like the knitting needle allusion.

Knitting Needle Weapon

Sixteen-year-old Kathy hated school, but she loved her dog, Toni. “When I get home from school I just take Toni and go to the haymow and look out the big window.” She was less fond of her dog, Flipper. “Flipper bit my hand again. He won’t last long.” A dog named Flipper. After a dolphin. No wonder he bit her hand.

Kathy and Toni in the Haymow??

Our grandfather lived with us at that time. He was notoriously tight with his money, like some of his descendants. Kathy writes in one letter, “Grampy was going to send you five dollars, but I told him you didn’t need it,” thus cheating me out of financial aid I really could have used!

Missed Bursary

And she took great delight in telling me that my old boyfriend was interested in her now. “He’s still mad at you because you didn’t sit beside him at the Sussex rink.”

Missed Opportunity

Her letters had definite themes other than school-hating, crushes and dogs. There was family and neighbourhood news including births, deaths, chainsaw accidents, pulp-dragging, squash-picking, new glasses, belts, diets and bad colds.
She would warn me of particularly startling news with, “Barb, sit down and plan to stay there quite a while.” Then she would share the awful news with me, such as the snowshoe confession. 

"Settle Down"

 As I mentioned, her voice was strong and the language colourful. Some words, which start with F, I cannot share with you here. I do have my standards. She called me a “nurd” in one letter and, in another letter, said she almost “peuked” after watching the movie Deliverance. (Honestly, that’s how puked should be spelled.) She described her exasperation with school saying she was going “Crackers, crackers.” She used the word “queer” frequently, meaning “odd.” This was 1975, after all.

Crackers, Crackers

She had numerous pen-names. Almost every letter had a different sign-off signature—Kathleen, Kate, Katie, Slopes, Reuben---to name a few. Never Kathy, which is what I have always called her.

Pen-Names

Over the years, my mother, brother, aunts, uncle, cousins have carefully preserved and lovingly transcribed collections of letters from our ancestors. They have published them in coiled booklets and made copies available to family members at a reasonable price. 

Letters to and from the Sea

When I reminded Emma of those collections she said, “I’d pay at least a hundred dollars for the “The Kathy Chronicles." (I see a business opportunity here.)

The Kathy Chronicles

Letters are historical artifacts to Emma and her generation. Rarely do they receive a hand-written letter, and even more rarely do they send one. In 43 years will they be sitting around sharing texts, Instagrams, tweets? Maybe this blog??

Letters from Home

...Until Next Time...