I am going blind after deciphering old cursive writing.

I have been reading some journals and letters to and from family members from the 1830s through about 1918. If I stick with one author, I can begin to read the cursive writing fairly well, but each time the author changes, it is like trying to learn a new language. Some of the letters have beautiful script and are totally unfathomable, others are rough but readable. I watched one author over a period of may years and as he ages, his script gets really bad. (probably having something to do with failing eyesight; cataracts and glaucoma are still big in the family.)

The journals, more of a diary than a financial journal, are interesting reading as the author talks a lot about the weather, as farmers will, I can tell you this, in Jan. of 1917, it rained a lot in Northern Alabama; he was happy to see two sunny days so that he could work in the garden. Still, in '17, one of the kids is just starting electrical engineering classes out of state, You can tell how proud Papa is about it. Of course I know what Papa didn't, that next year, he will be in the Army headed to France where he would fret for some time later... (spoiler: he ends up coming home from the war in one piece)

Another letter from 1864 is from a family member who was captured in the war and was in a Yankee prison camp in Ohio. He is asking for warm clothes and Confederate postage stamps to be sent to him. He says he nearly froze last Winter. He suggests that his health had improved some; probably referring to an earlier letter. Another letter is about a family member who has gone to the hot springs hoping to improve his health. So far he has bathed three times and is not appreciably better, but he is no worse.... I don't know which hot springs spa he was at, could have been Georgia, Arkansas or closer to home. Another letter, pre-Civil War, is a communication between the Governor of Alabama and the family concerning compensation for a horse and saddle that was lost when the family member was killed fighting Seminole Indians in Florida. Officers provided their own mounts and saddles. Two hundred bucks were due! Big money in the day.

One letter was described as an angry letter from the sender, but he was so angry I can't read a word.

My claim to fame is that Francis Scott Key, who was working as a Federal government district attorney in D.C. was suing one family member for reneging on some part of a mail carrying contract on his stage coach line. Not enough information in the single letter to determine the actual problem, but I am sure it was just a misunderstanding.

As big a struggle it is to get past the writing, it is a great deal of fun to me to be able to read this moments that were saved through time. How I wish I could sit on the front porch and have a cup of coffee and conversation with some of these folks. I hope that they would be interested in hearing about my life too.