Handwriting

Do you like your handwriting?  I never did like mine, and during grad school my note-taking was such a scrawl that unless I typed my class notes within 24 hours I would be unable to read them.  From that point I started typing everything I could, even the addresses on envelopes, thanks to a great little electronic typewriter that made envelopes simple.  (I literally typed addresses on 800+ envelopes during two evenings when I was campaign manager for a congressional candidate!)  I'm probably the only mother who typed her kids' excuses when they missed school.  I know, I know - very easy to forge.  Don't judge.  They didn't miss school very often.
When my daughters went off to college, I typed my letters to them.  I didn't think much about it until I mentioned my handwritten scripture journal to my daughter and she told me not to lose it because she wanted it someday so she would have something in my handwriting.  I understand.  I have Julia's scriptures and what I treasure most are her hand-written notes in the margins.
When I was in North Dakota we went through a few boxes I had left in the house in Montana and that they had moved to ND with them.  In one box was my baby book - with my dad's printing on various pages.  He didn't write very often (typed his letters to family) and usually printed if he couldn't type.  It was sweet to see his handwriting again.
Then we found a treasure. Remember autograph books?  Before kids signed yearbooks or whatever it is they do now, there used to be autograph books for friends and family to sign.  I had one with short poems or advice in it, such as:

Love many

Trust few

Learn to paddle your own canoe.

But in that box were two very old autograph books. One was my mom's and I remember when she gave it to me.  It was so interesting to read what her friends wrote.  I had forgotten that the first two autographs were from her parents.  Imagine that - handwriting of people long gone!  I remember my grandpa because he died when I was a young adult.  But I never knew my grandmother - she passed away when my mother was only 13 years old.  To see a short letter in her handwriting, written to her daughter/my mom brought tears to my eyes.  The other, older autograph book was dated 1909 and belonged to that same maternal grandmother.  Years ago at family reunions people would often tell me that I looked like her and had many of her mannerisms.  To see her handwriting and to read what others wrote about her was like a window to the past.