Marla was here for just a few days and was such a help!! I run all my decorating ideas past her. And if approved, she gets the ladder I no longer can climb and makes the adjustments. This time it was mainly the sunroom. I so wanted that old wire and wood birdcage with the fish. So…
We ordered cafe curtains to block neighbor’s gas tank. They arrived today.
Then she climbed the ladder again to move my good woman sign from the laundry room to the sunroom.
Lee found this sign sitting against a large disposal bin at the dump and thought I might like it. At my old place it hung in my studio. Here I just wanted to see it more often…who spends time in a laundry room! Then a bit more tweaking and the sunroom is perfect!
This garden tool was bought in Australia. The proprietor of the shop asked why I wanted it. I said I like old rusty things. He said, “Don’t you have rusty things at home?”
And the bamboo root face carving got moved. These are no longer that easy to find.
Then we framed and hung a couple of pieces. This one is now right there when I walk past it through the door to my studio.
And the view into the bathroom while sitting on the bed pulling on socks.
And one of the days while we were working around the house, a man came to take my car away to do detailing. Which means he cleaned out dirt, dust, grime from the last fifteen years that accumulated. It looks brand new after he spent five hours on it.
I took Marla out to dinner to give it a test drive. It is fun to try the latest cocktail being tested by the bartender.
It was a basil martini with salads and a full assortment of appetizers.
Afterwards Marla fixed us her favorite drink…a Negroni.
The next day we walked along the river and stopped at RareBird, my favorite coffee shop. But I will show those pictures of a foggy river and total indulgence next time.
While deciding that it was time to put the dictionary away because where I live it is always mistaken for a bible on Lee’s Information Center, I found this old writing from 1993 that is very much a good follow up on my handwriting and loss of cursive writing being taught. It will be an essay in my next book of short stories and poetry.
Letters – a journal entry by S. Webster (1993)
Letters. We don’t write them very much anymore. Just notes on postcards or a line or two on greeting cards that we choose because it reflects a sentiment we feel but don’t want to commit to handwriting. Then there’s those dreadful computer-generated newsletters. There’s something quite cold and impersonal about them regardless of the intention. Without the personal involvement that handwriting brings, these become less sincere at communications from the heart.
I miss receiving real letters that contain real feelings, observations and opinions. And what’s worse, I miss writing them. Now the urge to record those things is directed to a personal journal. But here, there is no feedback. It’s a one way conversation and I don’t have the accountability. No one will dispute or question or ask to know more. Furthermore writing and recording in a journal seems so much more permanent and unalterable…not like a letter that is stuffed in an envelope, stamped and sent off onto a tenuous journey to anywhere.
The best letters I ever wrote were sent to my mother. I didn’t really think much about them over the years. I liked writing and in a letter my thoughts were not interrupted by, “Yes” and “Really?” as in a phone call. The whole scenario could be played out, complete with punctuation marks to make a point or require a response.
I had known for some time that my mother had always kept my letters in a large box. And as her health failed and she ceased to write back, she would drop my latest letter in the box and pull out others at random to read and re-read.
When she passed away recently the box was sent to me. I knew it was coming and braced myself for a great wave of sadness. There was still so much in my life that I wanted to share with her.
With great trepidation I opened the carton and looked at the piles of envelopes and cards. Everything was there. My whole adult life. From sixteen years of age through twenty-five years of marriage and the rearing of two children. Even the photos of family, friends and artwork were there. She kept it all. I was never so completely hit by who I am and how I got here. It was all documented by my own words.
Rather than sadness as I randomly pulled a letter out, I became lost in my own history. There were very little of my own thoughts and feelings that were not there in that box, recorded exactly as I felt at the time, and shared with the one person who would accept them all unconditionally. And hold them close for years to come.
I remember a line in a movie where one of the characters said she had to go and write a letter to her father. When asked, “Why don’t you just call?”, the response was, “Because when I hang up, he has nothing to hold onto.”
My mother held these letters for years and now I have them back to read and laugh and cry as I hold them close and remember. I am going to miss writing letters to her.
Marla also helped me sort out the work space in the garage and took loads more things home for her various art groups to use. The rest of my teaching workshops books, ie. Content and Containment of Intimate Spaces. That was such a fun full week workshop! She also took many, many more book samples of various bindings and alternative materials. Plus three pedestals for the shops she helps out with. So happy to see these efforts continue to be useful!
Better go…need to refresh my wine and Marla should be checking in soon that she reached her destination for the day in Ohio.
Til later….