Nearly every day for seven months in 1945, my grandfather Bill wrote a letter home to my grandmother Margaret from the U.S.S. Onslow, a Navy seaplane tender ship in the South Pacific, where he was stationed as an electrician’s mate.
He was a new husband and father, about 30 and halfway around the world. He must have been scared.
“Hello my Darling Wife & Son” they begin. The young son was just starting to talk then and “into everything.” Much later, he became my “Uncle Lou.” My dad was not born until 1948.
Near the end of his life, my uncle gave me the four bundles of letters. We were at his house in San Diego, where we spread our family archive of snapshots and the letters on his dining table, then spent the day delving into our family history. A single day to download what I could about my father’s family, of which I knew little.
Uncle Lou found the letters in the basement of my dad and Stephanie’s house, while staying there to help my dad with chemotherapy treatments.
They were among items from my grandmother’s house, and below some water pipes that had leaked, he said. Other items nearby had water damage. But not my grandfather’s letters.
I have read a fraction of them. The faded ink swirls of my grandfather’s handwriting soothes me. They comforted me after my dad died, then after Uncle Lou died. They offered a new perspective on my grandparents’ lives.
Bill writes to Margaret of some assortment of daily rituals: the movie playing that night, a recent card game, whether he received all his clothes back from the laundry and what he’s going to do next: take a nap, shave, have a cup of coffee.
The most ordinary things in extraordinary times is their new gift to me.
Read “We Came From Love” about the letters from Bill, who I knew as Pop Pop.
Fireflies offer us all we need to know for these times.
Shine, they whisper.
Be full of light, from the inside out.
Shine as bright as you can, for as long as you can. When you struggle, look to another’s light.
Then shine again to lift someone else.
Your light lifts me. My light lifts you.
Stand brave and tall before ugly evil truths. May outrage fuel you to shine all the brighter, until injustice has nowhere to hide.
~~~
A little Love Note (Day 11) for summer’s fireflies. Pittsburgh photographer Chris Condello worked many nights to capture and post beautiful firefly images last summer. They instantly inspired me.
Chris captured a magical summer night, and the power and wattage of many small lights collectively shining.
With Chris’ permission, I used it here on the website and intend to keep it through the re-design.
Is someone helping you shine and stay lifted? Send some love to your fireflies.
I’m lucky to have many “fireflies” — good, bright healthy friends ready with a kind word no matter what happened that day. And I’d do the same for them. This is friendship. Kinship with all — those we know and those we don’t yet know. Writers, artists, musicians, teachers, storytellers. May we all shine brighter.
Did you catch fireflies as a kid? Leave a comment below!
Remember: every comment during the February Love Notes challenge is a chance to win a prize.
My mom and I argued during my raging teenage years about the usual stuff: What time I’d be home, whether I should go out at all that evening. I’d stomp off to my room to smolder and pout.
After awhile, if she wasn’t furious with me, sometimes my mom would crawl up into the upstairs hallway on her hands and knees, pretending to be a frog.
She’d flick her tongue out and “RIBBIT,” already cracking herself up.
I’d open the door and try not to laugh. Often, I’d crack up, too.
At night, around my curfew, she would be standing at the dining room window watching the driveway. It drove me nuts.
Staying Home & Healthy
My mom celebrated her 74th birthday this week with my stepfather at home in Ohio, where they’ve spent every day of this last year. Typically, we see each other several times a year.
We’ve hugged once in 13 months, both masked, for a few moments during a September afternoon spent outside on the patio, surrounded by her garden.
It stinks. And plenty of people would be thrilled to have the chance to hug their moms again. So if this is what it takes to keep her and my stepfather healthy, then so be it.
Of all she has taught me, laughing and giggling, especially at yourself, has been top of mind these last few days. How we all need to laugh together again, in person. And just be silly and dance it out. Telling our stories in pairs and trios and quartets. Our gestures and energy ricocheting and expanding until laughing and squealing, knee-slapping and foot-stomping becomes a swirling squall you can almost see and definitely hear.
My father-in-law calls this a “hen party.” Yeah, I miss those, and the big parties with the men, too.
The best part of a big party is the “morning after,” when my mom and I drink a lot of coffee and re-live the funniest moments and dish about who said what to whom.
Because of her, every time I see a butterfly, owl or bird, I think of her and want to pick up the phone and call her. She raised me to appreciate and respect nature, science and public policy.
She taught me to delight in wonder of the natural world and in learning how it works.
She’s knows all my secrets, and is not shy about spooning out empathy — and tough love.
Mom-isms
• When I’m stuck: “Snap out of it! Wish I was there to give you a dope slap.”
• Since I met my husband: “Don’t screw it up!”
• If my husband is the least bit upset, about anything, she says: “Oh no. What did you do?”
• If I tell her something I messed up and say “Oh no. I’m going to hell … ” she says: “Nah. Not for THAT.”
Her wisdom and tough love helps keep me on track. Her silliness and giggles keep me from taking myself too seriously. We chuckle during the phone calls that will have to hold us over until we can once again laugh and giggle in person.
How wonderful does it feel to get a personal, handwritten love note from someone? Welcome to Love Notes — little daily stories to inspire giving and receiving love notes!
I hope these love stories — the daily ones and weekly posts — about making peace inspire you on your own journey.
It’s also really great to hear from you! (Even if it’s not a handwritten note. It’s OK. I understand.)
In fact, a comment here is even better. Connecting through comments is a necessary step in growing the readership here — and builds community and connection.
Love Notes Every Day
Welcome to Love Notes, a new way to celebrate love and gratitude through February, 2021.
My challenge: Write a little love note every day in February and post here and on Facebook and Instagram at @lisaduchenewriter. Not easy! Like everyone, I juggle lots of things. But I can do it.
Your part: Comment.
It can be right here on this post or the Love Notes page, or on Facebook or Instagram. Your comment can be just about anything. And I’ve got some cool prizes to give away this month.
“Thanks for the story” …. or “I don’t like all this snow” … or “Have a nice day” … or “Hi.”
Anyone of those will work just fine! Seriously. Just let me know you’re out there and visiting.
Hellooo? Anyone out there?
Fuel for the Journey
I believe in these stories, and have loads of drafts and ideas, maps for a re-designed site. BIG plans!
Writing has always given me tremendous joy.
But when the story connects with readers on some level …. WOW. Even better. That’s what it’s all about.
Connection with you is quite gratifying and propels me on this adventure.
Remember: It’s all FREE. Leaving a comment is FREE. Just like sending a love note is FREE, except for the stamp.
This February, 2021, we need connection more than ever, especially since we can’t get together for roasted turkey and pie.
The Backstory
You may know. But if you’re a new reader, you may not.
So let me explain:
• ThanksgivinginFebruary.com is inspired by a true family story. More than a decade ago, my dad’s longtime girlfriend hosted his daughters, and our moms — his ex-wives, my stepmother and my stepfather — and his friends for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner in the middle of February. Read the story. Or scroll down to watch the video of my TEDxPSU talk.
This act of gratitude and generosity from a woman we had called The Ice Queen was to thank everyone for helping out when my dad battled and recovered from a life-threatening illness the previous November. He’d spent that Thanksgiving, his favorite holiday, in the hospital. Read Ms. Judgment, the story about mis-judging the “Ice Queen.”
• For about a decade, my dad and I had not talked much. Then we made our peace — which made the rest of the story possible. In other words, this story and site has been decades in the making.
• This story inspired my deep dive into writing personal stories. A trained and experienced journalist/editor, I spotted its rich lessons in making peace, the power of gratitude, making and re-making family, and love of family.
So I told it.
Then I kept going. Now, I’m sharing those stories for your journey. Follow your heart. Make your peace.
And can you think of a better way to make peace than sharing a piece of pie? (Or the whole pie?)
How Love Notes works
It’s simple:
Every time you comment, you get a chance to win a prize.
But — seriously — the best reward of commenting is connecting with fellow readers.
It’s the winter of 2021, and we all need connection more than ever before.
In our family, there will be no “traditional” Thanksgiving in February turkey dinner for 25 people. Not this year. This would have been the 10th year.
All that energy I usually channel into making pies, turkey shopping and decking everything out with flowers and red foil hearts?
You guessed it. I’m pouring it into Love Notes, at ThanksgivinginFebruary.com
Let’s celebrate together. I’m so excited. Happy Thanksgiving!
My Thanksgiving in February TEDxPSU talk from February, 2019.
This Inauguration, I’m planning a small dance party to celebrate America. Next time, with the pandemic behind us, let’s dance on the National Mall.
Ski pants would have been smart, I realized too late, shivering and stomping my feet. In the frigid, pre-dawn dark on Inauguration Day, Jan. 20, 2009, I danced to stay warm as we waited in the long, snaking line of the first security checkpoint a few blocks from the U.S. Capitol.
Thinking of the ski pants left behind in Pennsylvania just made me colder. So I stepped side-to-side, bounced on the balls of my feet and pulled my knees up to my chest, one at a time — a mini, personal dance party just to get some energy and heat moving.
Before 4 a.m. on this historic day, my then-husband and I left the apartment of a friend’s son, who kindly offered his dining room floor for our air mattress so we could be in D.C. to witness the Inauguration of America’s first African-American president.
Beyond the security gates, the alabaster white dome of the Capitol building shined bright against the inky black sky.
A spectacular sight, stirring my awe and pride. Our country. My country. The best, most just, most free and beautiful country in the world.
I never imagined nearly 12 years later, I would watch real-time on TV from our living room as insurrectionists from a violent and vicious home-grown mob fought police in hand-to-hand combat through the gates, up the steps, breaking through glass doors and windows and rampaging through the halls of our Capitol.
“Get OUT of OUR house!” I screamed the afternoon of Jan. 6, tears streaming down my face, as if my own home was being invaded. The newsfeed shook me and I felt a similar, disturbing sense of violation from many years before after discovering an intruder had broken in and ransacked my apartment.
We were safe, I reminded myself to pull it together during the Capitol attack. Our big dog was becoming quite alarmed. While the danger was ugly, fierce and too close to home, it was not at our doorstep. We were safe.
As new information and video from the attack on our Capitol surfaces, I am nauseous with outrage and smoldering anger. What the hell happened here in America?
A Somber, Peaceful Transfer of Power
No crowds will dance on the National Mall Wednesday. It is closed for security and COVID.
Joe Biden’s Inauguration as the 46th U.S. president will be an entirely different affair, despite that America has also elected Kamala Harris as the first Vice President who is a woman and woman-of-color. This Inauguration is likely to be quite somber — appropriately so as the coronavirus death toll has surpassed 400,000 Americans. Sadly, this inauguration will unfold behind a fortress of barbed wire and National Guard protection.
Pray the security will ensure a safe and peaceful transfer of power, so our American family can reckon with how we got here, heal and America can prevail on her promise. This will take some time. We will once again dance on the National Mall. We must.
A reminder that this blog is not about politics, but about finding peace, making your own peace, exploring peace — and hanging onto it.
America, we need some peace.
We’ve descended to a place somewhere beyond and below politics and we must claw our way back. We must have peace.
The peaceful transfer of power makes our United States an exceptional country. This is essential to a democracy. I’d taken this peaceful transfer for granted, and barely thought about it before attending President Barack Obama’s Inauguration in 2009.
Which is the point: American kids grow up not having to worry about the future of their country, not realizing what a blessing that is.
A man in the crowd at President Obama’s 2009 Inauguration holds up the peace sign. Image by Craig Wiernik, used with permission.
Up Close & Personal
I’m a moderate liberal — committed to free, healthy lives, families and communities; a champion of business, particularly local businesses and entrepreneurs; respectful of science, faith and striving to live in balance with the natural world.
For decades, I’ve counted liberals and conservatives, Republicans and Democrats among my family, extended family, friends and co-workers. We can disagree on policy and agree on fundamentals of American democracy: A peaceful transfer of power, the checks and balances to power, the rejection of violence, the Constitution.
There is no place in America for racism, violence or systemic injustice. We must keep striving to realize the full promise of America.
Every American should attend a presidential inauguration in person. See our Capitol dressed in her finest stars and stripes with your own eyes. She is glorious. Listen to the music and poetry our country’s best artists compose for an historic occasion. Experience this all-out celebration of democracy.
Just not this year. Not Wednesday.
I’ll be watching from home, reminding myself to breathe, and sipping hot mint tea to stay calm.
What Peace Looked Like in 2009: A Crowd Filling the National Mall
We all long for normal. How far we’ve unraveled and down-spiraled away from normal this past year, and — in other respects — in just four years since the last Inauguration.
Twelve years ago, that morning of Inauguration Day, 2009, as the largest crowd ever to attend any event in Washington, D.C., descended on the nation’s capitol, this is what peace looked like from my spot in the first security line:
Groggy folks cracked jokes, clapped their hands, sang songs, two-stepped and swayed in their spots, staying warm and festive. The gathering crowd was cheerful and ready to bear witness and celebrate, their bodies too full of joy and hope to be cold.
America had elected her first black president. An amazing day full of hope and optimism was just beginning. We watched the sky over the dome lighten in glowing periwinkle then peachy-salmon streaks.
We spotted sharp-shooters watching from the rooftops of the federal buildings near the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum where we waited a few blocks into the Southwest District from the Capitol grounds.
Yet, I felt safe.
My then-spouse had volunteered for the Democrats in the 2008 election, then called all of the local congressional representatives in search of Inauguration tickets. (Full disclosure: He planned every detail of our trip. Otherwise, I would have watched from the couch.)
A Republican congressman from central Pennsylvania secured tickets for him, a volunteer for the other party. That’s how it should be. When the election is over, we rise as Americans to put our country above party or any single person. We respect the will of the voters and prepare for the peaceful transfer of power.
Think, for a moment, of just how unlikely that was in the fall of 2020, when a sitting U.S. president refused to commit to the peaceful transfer of power, worked to overturn election results, repeatedly failed to produce proof of election problems in court, still refused to concede and repeatedly lied to people that the election was stolen — even during an attack on the Capitol.
And — all this when America was already battered by a staggering loss of human life, loss of normal daily life and grappling with unprecedented economic losses from the pandemic.
A Sea of People
In January 2009, our tickets allowed us to stand on the lawn of the Capitol Grounds in the first standing section just behind the audience of VIPs seated in folding chairs on the lawn.
When we’d passed both security check-points and reached a spot 10, maybe 20 yards from those first gates, I could not believe how close we were. Through the morning we met people and took pictures, held onto our spot, ate the sandwiches we’d packed.
In time, all the spaces filled in and a sea of people stretched from the Capitol to the Washington Monument — and perhaps even beyond.
The crowd closed in all around us and pushed us even closer, which was uncomfortable but bearable — especially once the music began.
The angelic voices of the San Francisco Boys Chorus and San Francisco Girls Chorus, then the spirited horns of the United States Marine Band sailed out from the western front of the Capitol. The notes from the strings of Yo-Yo Ma’s cello and Itzhak Perlman’s violin lifted us in “Simple Gifts” — a familiar tune and now a favorite hymn.
With my naked eyes, I saw the huge grey bow on Aretha Franklin’s hat when the Queen of Soul took center-stage and belted out My Country ‘Tis of Thee. My bones remember how her voice sounded singing about our country.
If I stood up on my tippy toes and looked through my then-spouse’s zoom lens, I could actually see the speakers and performers. I peeked through the lens again to watch as Obama took his oath to defend the constitution as president.
We chanted O-BA-MA, O-BA-MA, then quieted so the new president could begin his speech.
He entered office during the Great Recession, with a hopeful message that it was up to all of us to get America back on track. Those words ring true again today.
“Starting today, we must pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and begin again the work of remaking America,” said Obama.
Then it was over. We walked back through the city, warm from the early afternoon sunshine and movement, happy after witnessing history. As we made our way block by block, back out to the neighborhood where our car was parked, we saw people walking, celebrating, dancing.
On the drive north back to central Pennsylvania, the car heater thawed me. Still shivering, I sipped hot soup at a diner in southeastern Pennsylvania.
Reckoning Ahead
My life is much different than it was 12 years ago. That marriage to the spouse who scored tickets to Obama’s Inauguration failed. We live and learn.
I fell head-over-heels in love with a wonderful man and his two sons — now my stepsons, our grown sons — and moved to their house in a conservative county in rural Pennsylvania.
Trump has been popular here and handily won this county in 2016 and 2020. For the most part, during these years, I’ve treated politics like a sizzling potato and avoided talking politics in our family and community. Facebook has been too toxic of a forum, too polluted with disinformation for any productive civil discourse.
My thinking: We all have to remain family, neighbors and community on the other side of the Trump presidency. That’s true. That’s important.
But does that make me a peacemaker or a coward? Perhaps I was too quiet and complicit. That’s my personal reckoning.
Because it’s also paramount to return to some level of norms and peace in our American family. To challenge misinformation and radicalization.
Let’s Be Brave, And Trust We Will Dance Together Again
On Inauguration Day, 2017, I was hopeful, and prepared to give Trump a chance. I believe in the norm that when an American President is successful, we are all successful. He lied to us that first day, boasting the largest Inauguration Day crowd ever. I looked carefully at the pictures, remembering that sea of people who gathered to watch Obama. I was there.
To say things went downhill from there is an understatement. The Trump presidency is down to its final hours. We have almost survived it.
We would be wise to understand what led him to be so popular, why his message resonated with so many people — many of them good, honest people who would never commit the acts of violence we saw at the Capitol. Historians, social scientists and psychologists are best to answer that and other critical questions about what happened.
Some people must not want peace. Violent extremists must not prevail.
Let’s do the hard work of grieving, understanding each other and healing. Let’s be sure to dance on the National Mall again in four years. I plan to be there (with really warm clothes). How about you?
Because we must. This is America, and we will not — we absolutely cannot — lose our beautiful, exceptional country.
Looking back has brought me some comfort and soothed my nerves. These words from President Obama’s Inauguration speech in 2009 remind me America’s promise may have stalled, but will not be broken.
“With hope and virtue, let us brave once more the icy currents, and endure what storms may come. Let it be said by our children’s children that when we were tested we refused to let this journey end, that we did not turn back nor did we falter; and with eyes fixed on the horizon and God’s grace upon us, we carried forth that great gift of freedom and delivered it safely to future generations.”
When power has peacefully passed and President Biden takes office, I’ll dance in my kitchen and look ahead to working with our American family. May we dance on the National Mall again in four years. Whether a Republican or Democrat takes the oath in the peaceful transition of power, I’ll dance for America. We shall. We must.
The crowd that gathered for President Obama’s Inauguration in 2009 was the largest to ever attend any event in Washington, D.C., according to the Library of Congress.
