from Uncle Wayne Mesneak
Last year I told my cousin Maggie that I wanted to find this card, written by her father -- my Uncle Wayne -- many years ago. I wanted her to see it, and I knew I had saved it, because I was so touched by his efforts to carry on the holiday traditions even without my Aunt Frances, who had died earlier in the year. Over the weekend, when putting away Christmas decorations, I started looking through the cards I had saved from the 1990s, and there it was. Despite the sadness it conveys, it also did our hearts good to reminisce.
Maggie wrote: "Oh Kitti, this made me cry. Daddy had such a hard year without her. We went to a restaurant for dinner that year because he didn't want to celebrate. So happy they are together now. Thank you for posting and saving this. I love you! Kitti cuz, you probably know this, but my mother just loved covered bridges; it is so sweet that Daddy used a card with a covered bridge on it. And it is wonderful to see his writing. It is funny how we can instantly identify the handwriting of our loved ones. I think he did a great job for a grade school education."
This is exactly how I remember
Aunt Frances and Uncle Wayne!
Thanks to my friend Barbara Tilley, who commented:
"You are an extraordinary archivist.
This is a beautiful card, and I love covered bridges."
A few people asked who drew the picture of the covered bridge, and I would like to be able to acknowledge the artist, but as with so much of the really beautiful 19th - 21st C British & American Christmas Card art, this one is unattributed! It merely says, "A Sunshine Card / Made in U.S.A." I will never understand that practice! This is someone's handi-work! Please tell us who left behind the legacy of these lovely brush strokes! I always feel the same when looking through some of the lovely historical Christmas books that my sister - in - law Tina and I have given each other over the years. So many of the classic scenes -- children, fashion, home decor, holly greens, sledding and snow, quaint villages -- simply say "Anon." It's disappointing not to know the artists' names, but how lucky for us to be able to enjoy their talent decades -- even centuries -- later.