My neighbor, an older lady I'll call Jane, told me a good story today. She started off by talking about a man who had gone to the doctor for a simple operation only to die of complications five days later. The man was 32 years old. The story took place in 1922. The doomed man was Jane's grandfather.

Later Jane's grandmother moved into her parent's home and lived with her family for fifteen years. Jane didn't care much for her grandmother. The old woman was mean, quick tempered and was known to chase the children around the house with a fireplace poker. Jane even doubted that her grandfather could have ever loved this mean old woman.

Recently Jane's cousin moved to our town. Their fathers were brothers. A few early talks helped these two cousins realize that their fathers hadn't spent much time together. They determined to change that and set up a series of family reunions. As a result of these meetings they discovered a few things about their grandfather. His early death, the hardship to his widow, and the passing years had erased any family memory of the man. But forgetting your roots is a difficult proposition and these ladies were determined to find out all they could.

Their efforts paid off and this year they found five letters that had been written by their grandfather. These were love letters sent to his young wife who he obviously missed and adored. Those five letters changed the lives of these cousins. They developed a whole new appreciation for a grandfather they had never known. They have even begun to think differently about a grandmother who wasn't always old and angry.

The story got me thinking. Those were personal letters that were long forgotten. And yet, those five letters are the link from one generation to the past. It makes me wonder about blogging. What we write seems so inconsequential, and many times very trivial. What will the real value of our writing become. I wonder............
10:00:17 PM    comment []