Happy Thanksgiving

Here is an excerpt from a love let­ter I read every year at Thanks­giv­ing. It was writ­ten on Thanks­giv­ing Day, 1945 by my Grand­fa­ther Rev. W.W. Jones to my Grand­moth­er, Ade­na Jones while he was away in the army. They were new­ly­weds and they were expect­ing their first child — my father. I am thank­ful!

Landscape photograph on gold painted steel

Mile Mark­er 235, 16″ x 22″

Thanks­giv­ing Day, 1945

…All the reams of paper couldn’t con­tain the mer­cies that I’m thank­ful for today, for they pass my imag­i­na­tion in a nev­er-end­ing parade. The rain of yes­ter­day, the bright sun­shine of today: the lit­tle ponds of ice I saw out­side this morn­ing, a shel­ter warm as toast: mem­o­ries, rich and mel­low, embroi­dered with hearty friend­ship and cama­raderie; ene­mies — and the joy of being able not to hate them; cool water from a spring on a long, hot hike; good food that makes one com­fort­able inside; flit­ting glimpses out of the past that now seems so far away, so much apart of anoth­er world that one gives pause to think — could it be so and could that have been me?

Rec­ol­lec­tions of a home and fam­i­ly that once was — was that anoth­er day, too? — and I piece them all togeth­er like the pat­terns of a kalei­do­scope, some ugly col­ors, and some gay; for all the her­itage that is mine — the good I try to use and the bad to hide away; for all the fel­low­ship of home as it used to be; for a piece of blue gran­ite as a head­stone for a grave that in God’s inscrutable way had to be so ear­ly; for the lull of the cold wind that whis­tles through the eaves; for the killing frost that beto­kens a sleep­ing world; for bud­ding trees, the yel­low cro­cus, “the first fruits of them that slept.”…

con­tin­ue read­ing the let­ter as pdf



One Comment

  1. jim November 28, 2011 at 1:20 pm #

    i love this let­ter. and you. xoj

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