A couple days ago I stood in front of the kitchen counter pulling a knife through a warm potato so I could add it to a mixture of ingredients soon to become potato salad. The house was buzzing with visiting family members getting their day started; some readying for a day at the beach, others catching up on the morning news. I was humming some nameless tune when I caught a glance of the way my hands were moving as I sliced the potato into small cube shapes. Isn’t it funny how a tiny little action like cutting a potato can rush you back to a memory of something or someone in such an intense fashion that you feel almost completely overcome with emotion?
I always notice people’s hands and have not-so-secretly wished I had a set of those small, dainty hands with perfectly rounded fingernails that glide through the air elegantly as someone speaks. I don’t have those hands. Mine are actually pretty large for a lady. My fingers are long, and a little on the stumpy side. But that day, as I glanced at my own hands memories of the thousand times I’d seen Maw Maw Tish cut potatoes the same exact way came rushing back. Although I’ve always known my hands were shaped like hers, until catching that glimpse of the same cutting motion I’d seen her repeat, I hadn’t ever truly appreciated that having “her hands” could be something that can keep me connected to her now. And with that realization, I can truthfully say I wouldn’t change the shape of my hands now even if I could. I’ve never loved them more because I can look at them and feel close to her again; several years after her passing when I’m starting a brand-new phase of my own life. And let me tell you something:
She. Would. Love. This.
I’m lucky to have been surrounded by parents, grandparents on both sides, and even great-grandparents who were nothing short of amazing. Each talented in their own way taught me so many things to shape me into the person I’ve become. But it was never a secret that I was Maw Maw’s girl. My Grandmother “Maw Maw” Tish was a dynamo. We shared a special bond that is honestly hard to explain in a short blog post. I admired her spunk. She was witty and stubborn in all the good (and bad) ways. She wore the heck out of her high-heeled shoes and could cook a meal so tasty you’d swear it’d been touched by an angel. She never sought personal fame or spotlight for anything she did as an individual, but she poured her heart and soul into her family. She fought literally and figuratively for us to have what we needed, to give us every chance we could to be successful in our own ways and to prepare us to take advantage of opportunities she never had. She made me feel invincible; built the foundation of my self-confidence because she showed me my thoughts and opinions mattered. And then there were the little ways she taught me to appreciate what a wonderful gift it is to be a young lady (a girly-girl, if you will.) She let me dab on her Chanel No. 5 when I visited, and never blinked an eye when my clumsy 7-year-old hands dropped the brand-new bottle she’d just received from my grandfather as a gift. I can’t help but giggle remembering our ‘date’ when I was 6 where she taught me how to cut a piece of steak correctly or the time decades later when we saw Harry Connick Jr in a mall shop. She introduced herself to him so she could be sure to tell him we were going to the concert later that night. (She said that was for my benefit, but I’m pretty sure she waited as long as possible to wash her hand after shaking his!) I could go on and on about what she meant to me, and maybe there will be blog posts to come where I can allow you to get to know her better. But for now, as I publish this website and blog as a symbolic start to my life as a creative entrepreneur it’s impossible for me to not acknowledge her. When she passed away my feelings were far too raw to be able to speak publicly about how much she shaped my dreams as a young girl, but there isn’t much about my life today I can’t say was shaped in some way by something we talked or dreamed about together.
I’ve been asked several times recently about what kind of blog this will be. I want to share experiences, great finds, finished projects and perhaps some reflections about things that motivate me. I spoke to Maw Maw Tish on the phone nearly every single day until she passed away. In the end dementia began to rob us of those conversations; all those hours spent sharing the goings-on in our worlds. She was always one of the first people I called whenever anything happened. Good or bad, something happening to me wasn’t real until I got to tell her about it. I miss that so, so much. As launch day draws closer it’s dawned on me that if I have to sum up what this blog is all about, I’d say it’s my way of continuing those conversations with her now. When I finish a LetterJess project, discover something that just has to be shared or even wonder “Does this top work with this skirt?” I want to put it out there, share it with you and hope there’s someone in heaven who can turn a computer on for her so she can see it too. For those theologians among us, yes, I realize there aren’t likely to be computers in heaven. Just let me imagine her there wondering how to enlarge the text just a little bit so she can see it better.
Maw Maw Tish and I had a few discussions about our hands. She was the first to point out to me that ours looked the same. She called them “man hands” sometimes to make me laugh and told me I needed big hands to do big things. She would love knowing I’m using our ‘man hands’ to do something I truly love. And she would be so proud I have people like you in my life who are supporting and encouraging me to take this chance. So now every stroke of the pointed pen for a calligraphy project, click of the mouse in the design programs as we work on your stationery, and yes- slicing of potatoes for the next potato salad will be done with hands that look just like hers. It’s a way I can still do things with her.
The mission of LetterJess is a simple one. I want everything I do through this company to INSPIRE DELIGHT- something Maw Maw always did for me. We don’t spend enough time doing that for each other, so in ways large and small I want to make things for you and share things with you that will build this tiny corner of the world into the most delightful place it can possibly be. One notecard, one invitation, one envelope at a time we can smile and know we’re thought of, remembered and loved.
Hand on hip, polka dots and ruffles: Maw Maw Tish was style inspiration with a sass all her own.
One of the last pictures taken with Maw Maw Tish before dementia affected her so deeply she wasn’t herself. I will always treasure it.
