If you knew Peg, you likely knew her letters.

she was the most incredible pen pal. always sending me birthday and holiday greetings, but also all the in between stuff too - how is your semester going? i’ve just seen the most incredible concert! i thought you’d appreciate this newspaper clipping! how are your kitties? (or pussycats, as she always called them). my favorite were the selfies taken on a disposable camera, held with two hands, taken in front of one of my gramp’s oil paintings.

i always lived a state or two away from my grandma, but those letters made the distance seem insignificant. her words were hugs, her questions were listening ears. and i always wrote back. stuffing photos from a recent trip, art show, or new kitten, into envelopes, knowing she’d add them to the photo album she carried around in her purse - eager to show anyone who would listen.

but the letter writing didn’t start with her. when peg’s mother left ireland for a new life in america, she wrote ferociously to her sister, missing her homeland and everything she’d known. when those sisters had children, both named Margaret (Peg), a new generation of pen pals grew.

because of those letters, our connection with our irish relatives held steady. three generations of cousins, connected through writing. i’ll admit the handwritten letters are infrequent, because modern technology makes it so much easier to send a quick message or silly snapchat. but it’s all thanks to those letters.

this spring i got to bring my fiancé across the pond to meet the family. while there i got a small tribute to Peg, and it felt right to get a line from one of her letters, signed in her pristine cursive writing. and to get it in ireland, the place connected through writing. all the love in the world - that’s what she had for me, and what i hope to share with my future kids and grandkids.

i think about her a lot during the holidays, as her card was always the first to arrive. the letters may have stopped coming, but her words will always be by my side ♥️

i come from two families of love.

Note: Last year I had the privilege of reading the journals that my grandfather, Will Hannings, kept during WWII. From basic training, being stationed throughout the Philippines, to eventually making the trip back home years later. The pages were filled with photographs and drawings of his time away, an absolute treasure. While I was reading the journals, my other grandfather, Hans Kaufhold, took a sharp turn with his health, and passed on March 23, 2021. I rediscovered one grandfather, while watching the other slip away.

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I come from two families of love.

One that’s messy, and loud, and quick to offer up an I love you. A kiss on the mouth.

Another that weaves their love into letters; ‘All my love, Grammie Hannings,’ a peck on the cheek. Old journals with confessions of war time love, and a painting with my name snuck onto the side of a boat.

So much of our lives are dictated by proximity. That’s it.  

I always thought I was more like my mom’s family, simply because I live near them, grew up around them, spend countless holidays and birthdays and Saturday night dinners with them. 

But now, reading the words of my grandfather, a man I met but don’t remember, I am finding a whole new connection I’ve never felt before.

It makes me cry. Sad tears for the person I missed out on knowing, the man who brought so much love to my family, creativity, and insightful wisdom. But also happy tears as I discover pieces of myself mimicked in his stories, his choice of words, his view of the world. I feel a closeness I never expected to feel. The simple task of scribbling into a journal, unsure if anyone will ever read the words, is one I’ve done for the majority of my life. But his words, in impeccable cursive, traveled all the way around the globe, over three generations. They opened a door to a young man in love, a young man navigating wartime in foreign lands. Reading them showed me the love I knew was there, but didn’t always see. 

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Grandpa Kaufhold was different. I had him so much longer. 

Incredible war stories of his own, and a love story I will forever hope to emulate. But I was lucky, I got to watch this one, to listen, to hold hands and skip through the supermarket. The lessons I learned from him were hands on, he was just always there. 

My love of growing came through my mom, directly from Grandpa. He grew food since he was a young boy, a family of 7 living on the outskirts of Hamburg, Germany. It was ingrained in him, it was what you did to survive. My mom talks of a big garden they had growing up, and the expectation that everyone helps out.

I remember planting tomatoes where we used to have a sand box, watching him pollinate struggling plants with a paintbrush, down on his hands and knees, his long nose dusting the leaves. He planted marigolds every Spring, with seeds he brought home from his plants in Texas. Each Fall he’d collect the dried flower heads and save seed for next year. Coffee cans and newspaper spread around the basement.

We always joked about “organic,” him stretching out the word in his thick german accent, and he loved to make fun of the organic farm I worked on for years. He thought organic was something young people did to prove we knew better. “The same rain falls on my garden as over on your farm.” Even through his jabs I always knew he respected the work, and respected me for doing it. He was always offering me vegetables from his garden, and I was quick to replace his cucumber plants after a pesky vole kept eating them.

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I’m overwhelmed by the idea of him being gone, even though I knew it was coming. I’m grieving for him, for my grandmother who is struggling to understand, for all the big life events I had hoped he would be there for. But I have to focus on all the years I was lucky enough to have him, all the memories we shared together, all the inside jokes and “I love you more’s.”

Two incredible men that I knew in such different ways. A part of me feels guilty about it, but that’s life, and that’s ok. Family is family, and for me, love only grows stronger the more you listen and learn.

So, keep a journal, craft your love into words. Pen them in the hopes that someone will rediscover them one day. Plant a garden, throw a few marigolds seeds on the back hill, keep growing. Always keep growing. 

I come from two families of love. Both different and perfect and forever.

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changing

sometimes it happens and you hardly even notice, other times you feel every stretch.

it aches and rips and forces you to question everything.

change is good. change is scary.

2019 was a lot of change.

i spent a large chunk of the year trying to get to the bottom of some medical issues i’ve been dealing with my whole life, and i don’t think i realized how demoralizing that entire process has been. it’s really hard to put yourself first, to pursue things when you feel like no one is listening. even with the only child stereotype of “it’s all about me,” i’ve always been a people pleaser. i like to say yes. i’ll say yes even when i don’t want to, when i shouldn’t.

 stacy can do it! stacy will do it!

this is how i felt the entire year, even if it wasn’t spoken, i felt it. and guess what?

i can’t!

i can’t do it all, i shouldn’t do it all, and i need to learn to respect my own limits.

i left a job (a home, an identity) i’ve had for nearly ten years. a place where i tapped into a part of me i always loved. i met incredible, hard working, strong, caring, creative women and men, and i built a comfort zone. to leave that is incredibly terrifying, and so emotionally draining. but in my attempt to put myself first, and do what i need to do for myself, i’m trying something new.

changing.

a whole decade has passed while i graduated high school, graduated college, explored far away places, built a community of people i hold tightly (and who hold me up when i need it), moved into my own home, and filled it with two kitties, a whole lot of plants, and a boy i hope never leaves. it didn’t happen all at once, and moving into a new year, a new decade, i’m pausing to remind myself.

for all the moments the change has hurt like hell, it has always transformed into something good.

…

new year, same me. same tendency to cry at almost everything. same face that will turn red all the time, and same wish to stay home instead.

but hopefully a little more love for myself, and the resolve to know when to say no.

for me.

…

*insert funny joke about 2020 and how i have terrible vision

7.30.18

I was a seed.

cut from my mothers bulging stomach at the end of July, I was always growing. my feet planted themselves deep into the soil but my heart stayed buried within hers. she took me to the lake and I filled my lungs with the sensation of floating. eyes open wide, I'd sink below the surface wanting to see it all. In the yard I'd climb as high as I could, bare feet gripping the next branch, then the next, stretching to get to the top. I was always growing. we read books that filled my mind with new seeds, ones that rooted down deep and bloomed slowly. you held my hand, taught my heart it was okay to feel things so strongly. our voices connected, often without a sound. my words became images and I discovered a new way of expression. quietly we grow, together.

I am a seed.

I am always growing.

11.26.17

getting to know a piece of land across all four seasons is so damn rewarding. 

7.14.17

it's easy to miss changes when they happen a little bit every day. take a moment to stop and smell those roses (or elderberries). 

5.21.17

have you ever not done something your whole life because you were so worried people would think it looked stupid? well it only took me 25 years to decide that's a silly reason. cheers to doing what i want with my body, because guess what? it's mine.

2017

new year, same me. 

12.25.16

my mom gave me this bracelet when i graduated from high school. i've worn it every day since then, except for that week when it sat in my car because i broke the clasp at the farm. anyone that knows us should know that the last thing i need is a bracelet to remind me she loves me, but it's a nice token to bring along.

that's one of the most important things i've learned from traveling. love doesn't go anywhere. actually, it goes everywhere.

today, as i spend my first christmas away from home, i know that this day is just like every other day. love doesn't change on weekends or holidays. it doesn't grow weak as it stretches across oceans and time zones. if it's real, it's always there. like a cozy blanket to wrap yourself up in. and i do love being cozy.

12.23.16

Today I went snorkeling at a beach on Oahu. The fish, the coral, the sun, the water, all perfect. Do you ever have those moments when you need to pinch yourself? Yeah, it was one of those moments.

And then, just a moment later it all flipped upside down.

I watched a man being rushed to shore on a surf board and quickly transferred to one of those orange boards on the sand. The lifeguards swarmed and cleared a space around him. They strapped him down and quickly began CPR, taking turns, again, and again, and again....and again.

They did this for nearly 45 minutes.

I stood in the water and watched with horrified fascination, like a car crash you can't look away from. I didn't want to watch, but I also couldn't make myself keep swimming. I stood there shivering in the hot sun.

I cried for the man. I cried for his family. I cried for the lifeguards who maintained their strong faces as they tried and tried. I cried for the EMTs who eventually made the decision to stop trying. I cried as they loaded him into the ambulance. And I cried as the people dispersed, hiding any trace of what just happened on the beach.

I sat on that beach all afternoon. I couldn't go in the water, and yet I couldn't make myself leave. Do you ever feel paralyzed by your emotions? I do. I always need time to process things, analyze and over analyze. I think that's why I'm so quiet. I'm too busy thinking.

So what's the take away?

Life is so god damn fragile.

That's all I can come up with.

Bad things happen to good people, at any time of the year. You can plan and schedule and then life happens and none of it matters.

Please go hug your people extra tight for me today, ok? Holidays or not, spread some love.