Write a Letter to my Grandparents once a month

My grandfather, in his 80th birthday speech, fondly recollected that over the last few years one of the greatest delights of his life had been the morning discovery of an express post envelope in the mail. The yellow and red envelope characteristically bore the signature of my name and it was with sheer rapture he reflected, that he opened the contents therein to find an informative and humor-provoking letter replete with the misadventures of Lucy, the conquests of mountain adventures, the new heights of my career development and numerous other tales and observations that painted a colorful picture of the full and vivacious life of his granddaughter, ‘She’s full of surprises this one’ he said with a thoughtful smile.

There’s something about a letter that’s so intimate and engaging… we transpose our thoughts, our reflections and other random observations of life that often go unnoticed or are forgotten without further contemplation. They hold in their detail not only the noticeable transitions of life that will be remembered for years to come… but the smaller moments. The hilarities that confront us daily, the absurdities that make us laugh, the philosophical questions that plague us for a season until we find in ourselves or in the world at large an answer to our quest, they record the people who may in latter years have passed out of our lives forever and they paint a picture of how we feel… the articulation of confidence, the admission of insecurities and vulnerabilities, the voicing of bold aspirations or timid hopes; all of which, when the season has passed, fade into the realm of forgetfulness.

In writing to my grandparents, I never want to succumb to writing bland dissertations or tedious lackluster statements but rather to interpret life in such a way as to extend the vitality and experience of my journey with them. To combine the arts of photography and writing in harmonious expression and together to paint a picture of what my life is like… to involve them in it, to allow them to see my world as I see it. In storybook fashion my novellas are bound with glossy photos adorning each page, italic captions offering witty interpretations and lengthy compositions of life observations, recollections and musings. The latest September edition takes a prideful place on my grandparents lounge room coffee table where, I am told, it prevails itself upon every unsuspecting visitor who innocently drops in for a coffee.

Just like South Africa has ‘The Big Five’, so too has my grandmother… the big five casseroles that she has made for the last forty years. A handful of recipes which have been passed down from generation to generation and have even inspired my mother on the rare occasion to deviate from modern cuisine. Of these five, I had two favourite recipes that I especially liked, neither of which I have been able to replicate in quite the same way. One was boiled chicken stewed in a thick apricot sauce and the other was a casserole of sausages and gravy, mixed with an onion and tomato base and stewed in an old white crockery dish with a faint blue crest on one side. Desserts could be classified into a less generalised category – the big 3: Frozen Chocolate Bavarian, Hot Apple pie or Rhubarb and Ice cream.

Whenever we were going to my grandparent’s house for dinner, my brother and I would anticipate which of the ‘big five’ we would be having for tea. We would place our bets accordingly as we were driving up the driveway and our guesses would be confirmed the moment we walked through the front door and the smells wafted down the hallway.

I always remember it being my responsibility to set the cups on the table. My parents and grandparents always had the gold rimmed crystal glasses, a limited edition set bearing a gold sketched outline of the old country school my mother attended, and my brother and I fought over which colour plastic cup we wanted… blue always being in popular demand.

At some point my brother and I graduated from the plastic cups. I remember visiting my grandparents a few years ago and instinctively going to the cupboard to reach for the very same blue plastic cup that I had waged my life over ten years before. I was immediately scolded by my doting grandmother who insisted instead that I have one of the ‘good glasses’ from the glass dining cabinet. Childhood ebbed away in that moment but the memories will live on forever. Like all things of life, once we move forward we can never go back, yet the memories can forever be just as rich and impressionable if we take a few moments to reflect and remember.

Life passes by and changes so quickly, a reality that is reinforced through every aspect of or daily lives. The 7pm news report, the wall street journal, every business that closes and every enterprise that launches its first product, every obituary recorded, wedding photo taken and birth certificate conferred all reiterate a common thread of reality – life is never stagnant; it is always in a changing state of evolution. Bearing this in mind, the importance of this goal is magnified as my grandparents grow older and their worlds too are in a constant changing state.

Every moment becomes more precious than the last, every memory becomes more treasured and every commodity becomes no longer a priority, but rather an accessory to life. My letters, photos and gifts are always displayed proudly on the coffee table ready to be shown to some unsuspecting visitor as soon as they sit down. Why? Because they are now living their life through mine – my travels, photos, richness of experiences and stories all fuel their excitement in life. My grandparents can no longer travel but they can see the world through my photos and they can interpret it through the recollections of my experiences, they no longer have the diversity of life that is at my fingertips but they can live the adventure through the choices I make and the roads upon which I travel.

I’ve come to realise that now that my life bears more consequence than I had ever considered before and to keep my grandparents isolated from this would be to expel them to an existence void of any true delight, diversity or satisfaction. The greatest gift I could ever give to them is not something of monetary value that can be put on a shelf and admired; it is the sharing of my life through words, through thoughts and through photographs. I penned last night, a seven page letter detailing briefly our trip to Asia upon which I will elaborate at some later stage. I included some photos of our trip and humored them with the latest antics of my Labrador which never fails to amuse. I have determined this goal to be a priority moreso than any other year for it is after all an insubstantial amount of time to put aside considering the magnitude of their investment in my life over the years.

My grandmother’s memory is slowly relapsing, slight blankness has started to appear in her bright sparkly eyes and we listen as her sentences are repeated twice or maybe three times without her realization. In the last few months as my health has failed me to a certain extent, my trips to Melbourne have been less regular and indeed the last time I was there visiting my grandparents, I was far from being my normal self. My reclusive and withdrawn behaviour and sallow appearance were worrying even to me. These factors have reiterated to me how important this goal really is… to bridge the gap of distance with constant correspondence and care.

I sent a letter to my grandparents last week along with the 9 scrapbook pages which I had carefully compiled to represent different significant events that have happened this year. There was one photo in particular that I couldn’t help but smile every time I looked at it… it was taken at my cousin’s wedding with my cousin Daniel and my Grandma killing themselves laughing over some absurd left field comment my cousin had ingeniously concocted. My grandparents loved the pages and I am told that the albums remain at all times on their living room coffee table to be proudly presented to any visitors that come by.

I’ve come to realise that actually it’s the simple things of life that they now delight in. My grandparents are too old to revel in the latest crazes, fashions or mod-cons, the things that really matter are the memories, their family, their heritage and the richness of life’s experiences. To send a letter, a card, a photo or thoughtful keepsake is one of the surest ways to brighten up their day.

My frequent trips to Melbourne have diverted my attention from this goal as I have more often seen my grandparents in person thus defeating the purpose of writing to them. However, today as I reflected on how pathetic I have been in relation to this goal, I decided I must do something to redeem myself. I bought a book for both my grandparents, for my grandfather who sports a keen interest in Australian history I bought a book called ‘Tobruk’. Like Gallipoli and Kokoda, the Siege of Tobruk is an iconic battle in Australia’s military history. Under ceaseless attack from Rommel’s men, the Australian defense held strong.

For my grandmother I bought a book which has captured the hearts of dog-lovers worldwide ‘Marley and Me’. This book traces the life and adventures of a mischievous Labrador who became an integral and unforgettable part of a family. Many of its mishaps bear an uncanny resemblance to those performed by my own little Labrador Lucy and my grandmother never tires of the stories.

I am constantly reminded by people who never say their ‘last goodbye’s’ how important it is to have no regrets, no unspoken words, no issues unresolved. My grandparents as much as they have friends lead a fairly sedentary and unsocial lifestyle so it means so much to them that their family is around even if not in person at least in their thoughts.

I was in Melbourne on Thursday and Friday of last week and made a surprise visit to see my grandparents. My mother rang them to say that she would be dropping by their house under the guise that ‘she had a package from Brisbane to drop off.’

My grandparents were estatic to see me and just as impressed with the letter / book I presented to them. I had bound the so-called letter in a book-type format with photos accompanying my writings. One of the more humorous photos was a picture of my labrador Lucy in the front seat of my boss’ convertible – it was a gorgeous photo. Being able to see images to compliment writing makes the read all the more real and tangible. It’s almost like having a recipe book with beautiful photos of the end result – it makes the culinary experience so much more appealing.

So, January and February can be crossed off as done, I will perhaps think about writing another letter late March to fill them in on recent events.

have been amalgamated together to produce not a mere letter but rather a short novel! I began the enthralling process of recounting my holiday to New Zealand and being the detailed person that I am, the short overview expanded to a short story.

At 19,000 words, 18 pages long I sincerely hope I am nearing the end and will have it finished by tomorrow evening.

It started off as just a simple letter when I started writing at the start of February but now as I have delved into a detailed narrative of my recent New Zealand exploits the simple letter has expanded in size and eventuated into a 7,000 word essay.

I have a way with writing, taking a humorous moment and describing it on paper in its most exaggerated, ridiculous and hilarious form. My grandparents really appreciate those stories for I believe they bring a little colour and brightness into their somewhat inactive lives. They live through my experience, they derive joy from the crazy moments of my life and discover laughter in its purest form.

In our hectic and convoluted lifestyles, we often overlook or underestimate the power of words. Not words simply concocted to fill the white screen of an e-mail or communicate a message with as many abbreviations and shortened sentences as possible, rather a narrative or analysis with depth, feeling and character, words that characterise our journey and articulate who we are…

My grandfather once referred to me as ‘the girl of surprises’ for inevitably on an unassuming afternoon an express post package might arrive containing a letter, card and a few small ‘thinking of you’ gifts. It’s amazing how such a small gesture can change someone’s day or even their week.

A Letter is such a personal and impressionable way in which I can communicate and involve my grandparents in my life though we live so far apart. 1 Letter a Month – a small investment of time for a huge investment in our relationship