Sometimes something that comes in the mail triggers memories. In this case, it was a letter from long-time friend Hazel Charles’ “snail mail.”

In late September I received a personal note from longtime friend, Hazel (Garber) Charles. Hazel, who was born close to my hometown, Elizabethtown, Pennsylvania. She still lives a few miles from there in Maytown, PA. Unlike me, she has not roamed far from home. And, she has remained Mennonite.

Card from friend Hazel, date stamp September 26, 2026

Hazel and I have corresponded for decades by mail. We have exchanged Christmas cards. Hers has always included a handwritten letter—news of her great-grandchildren’s births, her sewing projects (comforters for world relief), a list of her produce, canned or frozen, fresh from her garden. Recently, she has informed me of mutual friends who have died.

I value our long friendship. Although we have chosen different paths in life, our common history serves as the “tie that binds.” I sense she wants to keep in touch, and so do I.

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Hazel’s recent letter prompted me to search for a photo of us as infants, now sepia-toned, deckle-edged.

Hurrah: I found it stored in a cardboard box inside an ottoman! She and I are bookends in the photo above.

Left to right: Hazel (Garber) Charles; Kenny Aungst; Reba (Longenecker) Crill, a second cousin; and me, looking at the camera.

She is wearing a crocheted dress, which I admired even as a child. Mother made my dress on a sewing machine and hemmed it by hand, I’m sure. There’s a bit of fancy in the buttons down the front and the treatment on the neck and sleeves.

These days Hazel and I are corresponding oftener it seems.  Yesterday I sent her (also via USPS mail) a re-print of a digital image of the photo above. She may have a copy of the original, but if she doesn’t, she’ll welcome it. 

It strikes me now that Hazel and I share a history even longer than that of my sisters.

Melissa Kirsch of The News York Times reminds readers how unusual it is to get cards or letters in the mail these days. She says so in an article titled “Snail Mail.” 

The accompanying illustration shows the connection the U. S. postal service makes possible.

Hazel, who can text on her phone but doesn’t do email, also informed me of the death of a friend, Gladys, who was baptized with us at Bossler Mennonite Church in September 1951. That news sent me down another trail: Imagining the plain, symmetrical interior of our church many years ago, getting baptized (water from a white basin sprinkled on our heads) after we had both turned ten.

Electric light fixtures still hang from the ceiling, now as then. However, as a small child, I remember 3 or 4 Victorian-style oil lamps mounted to the wall on each side of the sanctuary. I imagine they stayed attached there for a while, maybe as back-up if electricity failed.

Etsy image

The image here shows wood paneling, but the church interior was wallpapered in a textured, light beige tone, as I recall.

As I mused about Hazel and our church on Bossler Corner, other memories soon tumbled out.

Some cascaded into reminiscences of Mother Ruth and Father Ray.

Mother Ruth

Mother made all of our dresses until my sisters and I learned how to sew them ourselves.

I remember Mom having me try on a dress she was sewing for me, standing still and turning very slowly as she adjusted the length of the dress with pins. I hoped the pins she was holding to mark the hem wouldn’t jab my leg. Once or twice one did. Ouch!

When our clothes were dirty, she washed them with Ivory Flakes detergent, using Rinso Blue in the rinse water. It was common for housewives to put bluing in the tub of rinse water after the washing cycle. She probably stopped using that dye to brighten whites when she got an automatic washer after I left home. (Bluing could not have been eco-friendly).

Like in Cracker Jack’s boxes, this rinse product contained a treat inside. I don’t remember that Mom pulled a treat out of the box or know what she did with it if/when she found it. We didn’t have a TV back then and I doubt sheor I would be interested in trading cards.

Father Ray

Often on a Saturday night, Daddy drove up to Dorsheimer’s News in Elizabethtown, PA—always on a Saturday night—and bought a LIFE magazine. Harry Dorsheimer owned the store, a fixture on the Square for decades. I don’t believe Daddy ever had a subscription to the magazine, one that would arrive in the weekly mail. Picking it up became a ritual for him though.

Before he looked at the magazine, he’d thumb through the pages laid out on the dining room table, specifically to spot “naked” ladies. Of course, the ladies weren’t naked—maybe they showed cleavage—or sported short dresses. But these alluring women simply had to go before he’d read the articles. I remember him tearing out offending pages uttering an “Ugh!” and crumpling them up into a ball as I looked on. Since then, I have learned that I may have been observing reaction formation, a defense mechanism in which a person psychologically copes with unacceptable desires by expressing the exact opposite behavior.

Google image

Google image

Curious about current events, Daddy always listened to the radio when he came home from the shop for his mid-day dinner. He subscribed to US News and World Report also. I admire him for keeping up with happenings of the day, a trait I notice in myself.

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I can also summon a favorite memory, one laced with the thrill of going somewhere with Daddy.

Standing in the deep, square-shaped bin behind the driver’s seat of his Cushman scooter, my young self held on to Daddy’s waist tightly when we rounded the corner toward Grandma’s house. Did he drop me off at Grandma’s or take me down to the shop? My memory gets a little wobbly here. But I know I loved the sensation of speed and the breeze on my face, billowing my sleeves and maybe my dress as we scooted down the hill on Anchor Road.

This model from the 1940s or 50s.

You have memories too.

Here’s where to share them!