We begin life in community from the time of our earliest awareness of family members and our chosen friends. It’s a special joy to watch grandchildren begin to sense wider belonging, and celebrate it.
For my part, continuing contact with innumerable people I’ve encountered across a lifetime, some of whom I actually meet only rarely, is one of life’s richest gifts. Handwritten letters are treasures. I can still ‘see’ some such letters that passed into history years ago, and often something as simple as a distinctive hand restores huge swathes of detail and story to my mind one might have thought long forgotten.
Always something of a daydreamer in my schooldays (and since!) I wasn’t overly keen on learning penmanship and writing exercises. How glad I am today for those who persevered in teaching me the joys of the written word. I cannot imagine life, or story, without them.
wind in my wheels 🌱 
The power of handwriting *is* profound, isn’t it? All it takes is a glance at a recipe card in my grandmother’s hand and I am a child in her kitchen once more, standing on my little stool by her side, ‘helping’ to stir some mixture or knead another. Sweet, sweet memories…..
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Absolutely. I’ve a couple of Steven Pinker books – The Blank Slate and another, The Language Instinct, in my reading queue at the moment. I’m sure he’ll touch on these (precious) things … xxx
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