I’d like to open this blog with a letter from my great-great-grandmother, as a tribute to her writing. I never met Mary Goldie Jolliff, and all I have to know her by are old letters like this one and the timeless stories shared by my Nana and Great-aunt, Jeanne Anne. My great-great-grandmother wrote a great many short stories and poems, the majority of which were humorous. Unfortunately, with the passing of time, these stories have been lost amongst the changing of many hands and relocations.
Note from Jeanne Anne Craig:
The following is a letter Grandmother sent to Jeanne Anne who had gone with her children to Australia to join her husband, who was working there. The people who may need some explaining are our mother, who was a hairdresser and our Uncle Harry, who was a postman. His smart dog Sam needs no explanation,
November 23, 1965
Dearly Beloved,
I am so glad you called the other day. You can have no idea how good it was to hear all your voices. It is just not fair for families to be so far apart. Well at least your sister is here, which maketh my cup nearly full, but it will not runneth over till you come back.
It must be coming on for summer where you are. Here we are having typical November, Indiana weather--nippy and early morning frost. But the leaves have been so lovely until the past couple of weeks that I can forgive the one who makes the weather.
My cousin, Edna called the other day for your mother to do some rescue work. Seems two blond friends had tried to dye their own hair and it turned out a violent purple. They were quite frantic, as the Rebekah Lodge was doing its Induction Ceremony that week and one was Past Noble Grand and the other an incoming officer. I don't know how it turned out, as I haven't seen your mother since then.
When Bill gets off work I'm going out to the laundromat to wash my dirty linen, more or less in public. Thanks so much for the stockings you sent me. I was just about out of mates. I have on two perfectly good ones today, but they are many shades from matching so my legs are totally different colors.
I have mentioned your Uncle Harry's dog, Sam. He is almost a fully-fledged postal employee. He knows all the routes. Friday Harry carried a west side route. He had Sam with him but Sam strayed away. Harry went to a mailbox to pick up and he had forgotten his key. He had to walk up to the post office and Melvin Kane, another employee, drove him back. Melvin asked Harry where he left Sam. Harry said he'd left a note on the mailbox for Sam. The note said, "Sam, wait here for me." Melvin was skeptical but when they got back, there sat Sam waiting patiently under the note on the mailbox, so Melvin could only think he had read the note.
There is mixed news on the financial front. The good news is that your Uncle Bill got on a crew at the cemetery digging graves. The problem with that is that he is paid on a piecework basis and Alexandria seems to have been hit with a plague of good health lately, for nobody has died in ages, so we have been pretty poor. Someone did die last week but they sent him over to Summitville for burial. That just makes me so mad I could spit, as they never send us any of theirs. But things are looking up. I was down at the Thriftway this morning and Zelma Ruth told me that Fred Thompson's father was ailing and not expected to recover. Also several of the citizenry looked on their last legs to me, so we will be dining high off the hog ‘ere long.
I am about to wind down and think I'll go and get my second cup of coffee. Never drink two cups in under 20 minutes. Your taste for the second will be dulled. I read that somewhere. I think of us out there in California, having our coffee and doing our early morning settin' together. On a back cupboard I saw that cup you used to use out there and nearly wept. I am getting to be a silly old woman.
I am sending some Indiana Autumn leaves that I picked up sitting on my back step the other day. I also send my undying devotion, for I love you more than tongue can tell.
Your doting Grandmother
