This Year, Let's Give the Gift of Words

So what if there were a present that required no wrapping? no fancy ribbons? no assembling? no mailing? not even the swipe of plastic? And what if there were a present to last a lifetime? a present to explain a life? a present to cradle a legacy? And what if we could secure this gift, right now, this very moment?

This year, let's give the Gift of Words, the written, the listened. JUST WRITE: Words jotted a thought or paragraph at a time, the short stories and local color of our lives. JUST LISTEN: Over the holidays, the new year, stories really listened to, even when heard many times before.

Merry Christmas, All, Merry Christmas.

Impromptu snowman from Christmas Eve 2010


By Judy Bridges, writing coach at Red Bird Studio
and author of Shut Up & Write!.

My mother stands at the window, smiling out at the flaky stuff. I am four years old and already I've acquired the habit from her. Our sing-song voices share the joy, and it's years before I give it any thought.

This small moment in my life got bigger a few years ago, when Mom died and I was going through her papers. I'd given her a three ring binder to make notes of things she remembered or would want me to know. The pages were filled with penciled memories of pressing her brothers' pants for a penny, of dressing up in her big sister's flapper clothes, and helping out the fancy lady who lived next door. And on one page, an entry about her dad standing at the window, singing, "Snow, snow. Beautiful snow."

Until I read that, I didn't know our snow love was a generational thing. If I got it from my mother, and she got it from her dad, did he get it from his mother or dad? And did they get it from their parents? For how many generations have my ancestors been welcoming snow?

On other pages, Mom remembered sharing bowls of potato soup during the Depression, getting a job at the shoe factory, going to dances with her friends, and marching with the Gray Ladies on the Fourth of July. She told about the good looking guy who bought her a wedding dress, how he celebrated when I was born, and what it was like when he left. In her written memories, I found my younger mother, the one I was too little to understand.

It would not have been easy for my mother to write her memories. She was an avid reader, but having to quit school at thirteen left her self-conscious about her grammar and spelling. Words like 'ridiculous' turned into 'redicalus', and 'arthritis' into 'arthuritis.' On top of that, her hands weakened in those last days so that it was hard for her to hold a pencil. And yet she filled page after page with things she wanted me to know.

I think of Mom when I get tired of writing, when the words won't come and my fingers ache. I worry about grammar, vividness, point of view, accuracy, and grace, when I should be taking a tip from her and just getting the words on paper. I should write what I think, say what I want to say and fix it later--or not. Absolutely no one is going to die if the only thing I write today is a really awful first draft.

The heart of writing, the only thing that really matters, is that we communicate. For some things--a published work, for instance, we need to polish to perfection. But for the written gift, the messages written for children and spouses and friends, all we need is ourselves--our imperfect, word-scrambling, ordinary selves remembering a man looking out a window on a winter morning, singing, "Snow, snow. Beautiful snow!"

Many thanks to writing coach and author Judy Bridges who both inspired this thinking and graciously allowed me to publish the touching story, above, of how her mother gave her the gift of words.

My dog Lady watching the falling snow

Kitchen Parade is written by second-generation food columnist Alanna Kellogg and features fresh, seasonal dishes for every-day healthful eating and occasional indulgences. Do you have a favorite story that other Kitchen Parade readers might like? Just send me a quick e-mail via Never miss a recipe! If you like this column, sign up for a free e-mail subscription. If you like Kitchen Parade, you're sure to like my food blog about vegetable recipes, too, A Veggie Venture. Follow Kitchen Parade on Facebook!

© Copyright 2011 Kitchen Parade

Alanna Kellogg
Alanna Kellogg

A Veggie Venture is home of "veggie evangelist" Alanna Kellogg and the famous asparagus-to-zucchini Alphabet of Vegetables.


  1. Alanna this is so beautiful and makes me wonder what things touched my dads life while he was living. How amazing that you had the courage to ask your mom to share her thoughts and feelings on paper. I on the other hand couldn't have done this. My dad had a fear of dying so asking this would have questioned his mortality. That said its a question that I'd like to ask those I love who are still here.

    Thank you for sharing this beautiful story.

    Happy Holidays!

  2. Constancia12/22/2011

    Wow! What a fabulous idea. I've never known how to collect the many memories of my own growing up (childhood and beyond). I think I will start a notebook to give my daughter.
    Thanks for this lovely little gift and best wishes for a joyous holiday and wonderful year to come.

  3. What a sweet post, Alanna, and yes, I am learning to write blog posts "from the heart" instead of trying to be a perfect writer, which of course will never happen.

    Such a sweet photo of the little lady looking out at snow!

  4. Anonymous12/22/2011

    I've read this numerous times and it brings a tear to my eye every time.

  5. Whoa---that's a very good one, Alanna! Thank you for sending it.
    Have good holidays and a great 2012. Now where's my notebook....


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