A Singular Woman

I love my dad. He got an e-mail address a year or so ago, and it's like an awesome alternative to texting with him. He sends random one-liners to me throughout the day. He has a thought, he sits down to write a sentence, and off it goes! He used to do the same thing through the physical mail, and sometimes he still does. I love receiving mail and instantly knowing the sender, just by his or her handwriting. Do you love that also? Do you, like me, worry it will be lost as more and more correspondence goes digital?

Recently, I received just such a piece of mail from him.

It was a clipping about my Grandma Ethel (his mother), probably from 1918 or 1919, when she became editor-in-chief of the IU student newspaper.

I didn't have many years to spend with my Grandma Ethel. Though she died when I was ten years old, she was almost 101 years old (she was born in 1896 and died in 1996, just a few months shy of her next birthday). My memories of her are in the nursing home where she spent her last years, bedridden, blind, and going deaf. She was a singular woman in her youth, however, and I am happy to have these glimpses from the past to animate my memories, breathing life into the frail, white-headed woman I recall.

In five years, at the press where I work, I was promoted from Editorial Associate, to Production Editor, to Lead Production Editor, finally to Managing Editor, which became official this month. I knew I was in the right business. It's in my blood.