Hello again Scrappy friends, lucky it's a leap year, it allows me one last day to enter the
KRAFT+ February challenge, which is all about going postal.
The postman, letters and stamps were an integral part of my childhood and younger days.
Long before most homes had a telephone on the wall, communication from our home was done by letter. I smile when I think how dependent we have become on mobile phones.
The Grandchildren can not imagine how any arrangements could be made by saying something like,
"I'll meet you at the Beehive corner at one o'clock on Friday"
"But what if they forgot Granny, or you changed your mind?"
"Well, you waited until they came and you didn't change your plans unless there was an emergency"
"Really, that's very tricky Granny, did you have to wait for hours!"
The photo is of my home in the country, North of Adelaide.
I've included the journalling here, if you're interested; it's a bit difficult to read on the layout.
Feel free to scroll on my by, if it's all a bit too much!
My first memories of letters and the postman were when I was about five years old. Still at home with Mum, I waited on this front verandah for the Postie to come on his bicycle, hoping he would stop at our house, drop some letters in the box and blow his whistle. Because I was a big girl, I was allowed to bring the letters inside to Mum. We didn’t have a telephone, so mail was the only way to communicate with friends & relatives. There was great excitement when a wedding invitation came, or news of a new baby in the family. When I left home to start Nursing training, I wrote home each week and received news from home too. To see Mother’s writing on the envelope, made my heart sing; I missed them all so much and longed to hear news of the farm. Her warm, chatty letters of everyday life, eased my intense home sickness. My letters to her described the shock of working 12 hour days, witnessing births and deaths, dealing with road accidents and having to wash a man! Later, when travelling for a year overseas, I continued to write home every week. When cleaning out Mother’s home after her death, I discovered she’d kept all those letters, so I have a potted history of my life. I hardly recognise the naive girl I was, or the world traveller I became, but my experiences and memories are preserved in my letters to Mum. Journalling 2016
The corner flourish stamp is from Tim Holtz - Soulful Journey
The stamps I found in the same drawer as all the letters my Mother saved.
Thanks for calling in to say hello.
I truly appreciate any comments you may care to leave.
KRAFT+ February challenge, which is all about going postal.
The postman, letters and stamps were an integral part of my childhood and younger days.
Long before most homes had a telephone on the wall, communication from our home was done by letter. I smile when I think how dependent we have become on mobile phones.
The Grandchildren can not imagine how any arrangements could be made by saying something like,
"I'll meet you at the Beehive corner at one o'clock on Friday"
"But what if they forgot Granny, or you changed your mind?"
"Well, you waited until they came and you didn't change your plans unless there was an emergency"
"Really, that's very tricky Granny, did you have to wait for hours!"
The photo is of my home in the country, North of Adelaide.
I've included the journalling here, if you're interested; it's a bit difficult to read on the layout.
Feel free to scroll on my by, if it's all a bit too much!
My first memories of letters and the postman were when I was about five years old. Still at home with Mum, I waited on this front verandah for the Postie to come on his bicycle, hoping he would stop at our house, drop some letters in the box and blow his whistle. Because I was a big girl, I was allowed to bring the letters inside to Mum. We didn’t have a telephone, so mail was the only way to communicate with friends & relatives. There was great excitement when a wedding invitation came, or news of a new baby in the family. When I left home to start Nursing training, I wrote home each week and received news from home too. To see Mother’s writing on the envelope, made my heart sing; I missed them all so much and longed to hear news of the farm. Her warm, chatty letters of everyday life, eased my intense home sickness. My letters to her described the shock of working 12 hour days, witnessing births and deaths, dealing with road accidents and having to wash a man! Later, when travelling for a year overseas, I continued to write home every week. When cleaning out Mother’s home after her death, I discovered she’d kept all those letters, so I have a potted history of my life. I hardly recognise the naive girl I was, or the world traveller I became, but my experiences and memories are preserved in my letters to Mum. Journalling 2016
The corner flourish stamp is from Tim Holtz - Soulful Journey
The stamps I found in the same drawer as all the letters my Mother saved.
Thanks for calling in to say hello.
I truly appreciate any comments you may care to leave.
