I wanted to share a small portion of a letter I received yesterday from my aunt Vivian regarding the topic of yesterdays post.
I found the letter quite moving and sweet and could not resist sharing my Aunt's memory of days gone by.
When we were children growing up in our small town, we saw numerous hobos. Grandma Lucy lived right next to the rail road tracks. Hobos came to the door asking for work. She always gave them some small job to do so that they could keep their dignity, and fed them a nice meal and sent them on their way with more food. On many winter days before I was old enough to go to school, she would entertain me. It might have been the other way around. In any case, she refused to live in the modern world and kept to her old ways of using wood stove for heat, one for cooking and a real ice box with ice in it.
She would fix us what we called a hobo lunch. A coffee can with two eggs in it were boiled in the open stove flame. A piece of bread and maybe some cheese along with a piece of fruit, or a cookie. Many hobos would have loved such a lunch. This was one of my favorite lunches and better than any restaurant could ever serve. We were never afraid of these people. They were people who had no past and were traveling in an unusual way, but dignified and respected, or at least accepted as they were.
As I read this letter I was proud and honored to have had a first hand snip-pit of this rich history as well as the story about my great grandmother. Most importantly I'm proud to know she taught her children compassion and understanding towards other less fortunate humans.
I recently watched Emma, one of my favorite Jane Austen stories. One of the scenes in the movie always stood out to me. Do you remember when Emma poked fun of Miss Bates while they were picnicking? Mr. Knightly scolded her for making fun of someone that has less than her and that she should be ashamed of herself. Emma later apologized to Miss Bates.
In modern day, I believe these precious values like the ones my great grandmother taught my aunt and the one during Jane Austen times have gotten lost somehow.
I never understood how some kids could bully others in school nor will I ever. Those same teachings my great grandmother taught my aunt were passed down to my mom and in turn proudly taught to me. Always treat people the way I wished to be treated was a favorite phrase from both my mom and dad. My son Patrick has inherited those beliefs as well from the many times I've repeated over and over to him those same words.
This post and the one before, a more serious look into things, but one I feel worth writing about. Somehow it offers me closure to the recent goings on. It's always therapeutic for me to write no matter what the subject, but writing about compassion seems to touch me in a deep soothing way.
Lighter subjects follow.... promise....
Enjoy caring and sharing winter days.
Love,
Jill 00
Two hugs are better than one
