Those Three Little Words

Dear Nana,

It's been a while since I've shared with you some of the old letters written between you and Grandpa Saul. I'm sure you are anxious to hear more from the bygone days of your early 20s when you met your first and only love. The letters I will share with you today are the earliest notes that I have from you, aside from the first letter I shared with you back in September . Because you were both in the city during the spring of 1931, the time in which your affection, like the tulips on Park Avenue, blossomed, no letters exist from that period, aside from the one I've already shared. However, when you went to work as a camp counselor in July of that summer, you and Saul wrote nearly daily. And in this first set, I seem to have stumbled upon the moments just after the two of you first uttered those three little words, words you would shower one another with for years to come.

July 1, 1931

Honey -
Let me outline to you, my thoughts of the day, from one o'clock onward. I arrived back at the store at one-ten, walked around the floor not forgetting once to notice the time. Finally, two o'clock arrived. I pictured little Henny, comfortably seated, waiting for the train to roar forth. From then on I had the time table in front of me almost until five o'clock. Gee! I wish I were with you, to help you with your trunks upon your arrival. Darling, you have no idea how contented I felt after I said good-bye to you in the manner that I least expected. At this moment, I am looking forty-eight hours ahead with a great deal of anticipation. Did you arrive there without any hitch? Well, I'll see you soon. Love me? I love you.

Your precious,
Saul

July 1, 1931

Saul, darling,
It seems knowing you has meant just one surprise after another and each one seems to mean just a bit more than the one before. You've probably guessed what I'm referring to - your being at the station this afternoon. Honey, you must know how happy I was to see you by the way I rushed over. Darling, again I must comment on your splendid advice. My trunks got here perfectly. However, there was a little delay getting them from the station therefore this stationery. Your next letter positively comes on your gorgeous paper. Sweetheart, there's really nothing to tell you as far as camp is concerned and besides I'm being rushed to bed because its way passed curfew hour. You understand, don't you? Anyways, I'll see you right after you receive this so I'd rather have more to say then.

But there's one thing I can say now that I can repeat with as much flavor even when you get here - you know

I love you

Your treasure,
Henny

You wrote to one another on the same day, neither of you able to wait for a letter from the other. Did he say it first or did you? I can see you at the train station, trunks by your side, dressed for travel. Surely you were wearing something "smart". Travelling by train was still quite an event in those days. Nowadays no one dresses for travel. I'm embarrassed to admit that I tend to travel in sweats, class taking the backseat to comfort. But not back then. Not during a time when trains still "roared forth" as if each time the train whistle blew it announced an incredible adventure, an astonishing feat of modern transport.

There you must have waited alone at Grand Central Station, missing your Saul already, when you turned to find him walking toward you. You rushed to him and threw your arms around him. And he told you he loved you. A warmth filled you from your toes to the hat on your head, your face beamed and cheeks reddened and you told him you loved him too. He handed you a small parcel and you unwrapped it right then and there. He had bought you some beautiful, feminine stationery, as delicate and as refined as he believed you to be. And you promised one another you'd write. Every day. He kissed you goodbye and led you to the platform, telling you one last time, "I love you, Henny." Then he strode away, off to work at Ohrbachs. And your eyes never left his back until he was out of sight, disappearing into the crowd that had filled the station. Had these people been there all along? You hadn't noticed. You'd only seen him. You boarded the train, face aglow. This was it. This was . . . love.

I'll never know quite how it happened. But this is how I imagine it to be. Hmm. Grand Central Station. I've been there more times than I can possibly count. But it will never be the same again. It will no longer be a place that stands for aggravation and congestion and crowds. No. It's much more than that now. It's the place where you first heard those three little words. Three little words that roared forth, never ceasing, never quieting, but echoing for decades to come.

Love,
Katie

I Guess I Asked For It

Dear Nana,

Just a quick note. When I was home over the holidays, I went through some old drawers where Mom keeps mementos: old letters, report cards, drawings that Graham and I did over the years. I came across a letter that I'd written to Mom and Dad from camp in 1985. Here's a portion of it....



Do you remember the letter I wrote you in September about Singing Lessons? I guess I asked for it. Can't really blame those camp couselors for making me sing. I knew what I was in for. I guess I must have really loved those Dipps granola bars....

Love, Katie

Luminaries and Long Lost Sleepovers

Dear Nana,

I was in Michigan over the holidays visiting Mom, Dad, and Graham. As usual, we lit the luminaries on Christmas Eve. You remember, don't you? The white paper bags with candles inside that flicker throughout the dark night, staying lit until morning, lighting the way for Santa, or at least we used to think so. I remember Graham, on our way home from church on a Christmas Eve long ago, his face pressed against the car's frosty window as we wound our way home to get into our pajamas and prepare cookies and milk for our soon-to-be visitor. His face glowed and his eyes widenend as he announced to the rest of us that the luminaries were just like a runway, but instead of an airport runway, this was a runway for Santa's sleigh. With the luminaries lighting the way, Santa would surely be able to find us. And, of course, when we awoke the next morning and wiped the sleep from our eyes, we found that Santa had indeed paid us a visit.

I slept in your old room, in your old bed, on Christmas eve, since my twin bed in my old bedroom is not big enough for Jim and me to share. The framed poster of the play "Henrietta, Have You Met Her?" still hangs on the wall, reminding visitors that this room, no matter who sleeps in it, will always belong to you. Your double bed has taken the place of the two twins that used to be in the room, but I can still remember what it looked like before. I used to love having "sleepovers" with you on the nights that you visited. We'd both read in our individual beds, you with your glasses on a chain around your neck, me straining to keep my eyes open and keep reading, even though it was past my bedtime.

It has been a long time since one of those sleepovers, but each time I visit home and I sleep in that room, I feel just a little bit closer to you and time melts away like the snow. I am a little girl again, anxious for Christmas morning, giddy with the thought of what daylight will bring. Christmas this year was wonderful. But, I missed you this Christmas. We all did. But in a way, you were there with us. I guess you're always there. In that house, in the guest room. You're just waiting for someone to visit.

Merry belated Christmas, Nana.
Love, Katie