Letters of Love

Living with my grandpa has it's definite perks. Not only is the raddest neighbor of all time on account of his stellar personality and dashing good looks...he has a stash of really cool/useful/bizarre stuff. 

Like, for example, his medicine cabinet. It is consistently stocked with a host of "au natural" remedies for whatever ails you. You got a cold? A sore throat? Fever? Grandpa has something that will address your needs. 

Or, his never-ending supply of fresh produce from his very own garden. If I'm making a salad and in need of, say, a tomato (not that I ever would be...gross)? Grandpa will have at least five in his fridge at any given time.

Maybe I might be in need of scrap piece of wood (hey...you never know!). Because if I was, my grandpa has an entire stash of random wood parts/pieces stored on his back patio. Don't ask why. None of us know. My only explanation is that Grandpa grew up during the Depression, and as such, he has a bit of a hard time letting things go.

But, hands down, the best "find" that I've discovered in my grandpa's abode were these little beauties:

A whole box FILLED with the love letters that my grandma and grandpa exchanged while he was stationed in San Diego during WWII. Oh boy! I about swooned when I found these gems. I imediately tore one open (not literally) and began to read. It started, "My dearest wife..." and then went on to tell her how much he missed/loved/adored/admired her. It was quite romantic. And then my mean ol' husband told me I was being nosy, and that I should stop reading my grandparent's personal correspondence. I grudgingly listened. Although, when given the proper opening, I plan on cajoling my grandpa into giving me permission to read them. Personally, I don't think he will mind........
I have a special fondness for love letters. My husband and I have a whole stash of them ourselves, exchanged over the two years that he served a mission in Peru. In a time where instant communication is the norm, our seemingly antiquated interchange had such a classic sweetness to it. There was just something special and exciting about going to the mailbox, opening up that little door, and hoping that there would be a red envelope addressed to, "Whitney Dawn Ford" within. It was lovely. And hopefully when I'm an old and gray lady, my grandchildren might get as much enjoyment out of our letters as I did!