Journal of a Living Lady #217
Nancy White Kelly
I am probably the only woman in the world who got a file cabinet for Valentine’s Day. Candy and flowers don’t last. Metal file cabinets do. I ought to know. This was file cabinet #6 for me.
Take your pick. I am a keeper, literary caretaker, or pack-rat. I throw nothing away that smells of nostalgia. This Living Girl, at age 14, learned a valuable lesson early in life.
I was among the throng of giddy teeny-boppers vying for
Elvis’ autograph. He was in military uniform leaning over the caboose of a
train heading out of
Teenagers live for the moment. Financial appreciation of assets isn’t a hot lunch -table topic in junior high. It pains me to think about the worth of that autograph now. Since those days I have kept everything.
In file cabinet #3, I have a letter from my beloved dad from the days preceding word processing. It is not only the message I cherish, but the handwriting. I have a note from my oldest brother too. It is so eerily strange how their handwriting is almost identical.
My sister wrote a sincere and elegant elegy when it appeared I was imminently departing for heaven not so many months ago. I also have a post card from my mother and my grandmother’s Bible. In file cabinet #4, I also have a darling scribbled note from an equally darling six-year-old: “Dear Mom. I hope you have a wunerful wenter.” There is no monetary value for these treasures.
In addition to receiving file cabinet #6 this year, I got a beautiful Valentine card addressed to “My Sweetheart.” The writing is slightly palsied, as if written by a man born decades ago or perhaps in a frenzied hurry on the morning of February 14.
I searched through file cabinet #1. There it was... my first valentine from Buddy. The distinctive, left-hand slant of the handwriting matched. So did the words, “My Sweetheart.”
I have an on-going relationship with lots of men. Some call me mother, sister, or friend. But only one man can legitimately call me sweetheart. That’s Buddy, my buddy.
