Somewhere in the Wings of Time ...

When I was 17 years old, I wrote a letter to my favorite writer at the time : Laurens van der Post. My mom received the letter at home, and brought it to me at the book store where I was working after school. I looked at the envelope with the British stamp on it, and couldn't figure out who it might be from, but I knew it was important. My heart was racing as I opened it ...

"VdP! It's a letter from VdP!" That was my shorthand for his name. I was so excited to see that he had actually written back to little ol' me in northern Wisconsin! I have kept this letter framed ever since.

Here's what I wrote him (taken from a draft that I kept) :

Dear Mr. van der Post :
I am happy you still live and that I have this opportunity to express my sentiments to such a wonderful writer.

I shall begin by explaining how I came to know your work. Initially, I was a fan of David Bowie, curious to see his talent as an actor. I saw the film Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence. It was among his best acting, but in it, too, I found a great story of honor, guilt, and values I find missing in this world. I did finally acquire the book, less violent than the film and full of such beautiful prose! Do you remember this line? "The wet earth at our feet was like an antique mirror and we stood with our feet among the stars." Lovely! I've since read In a Province, First Catch Your Eland, and Face Beside the Fire.

I am not so old--just 17. The lessons we learn in History class trouble me. Your books are hopeful. The mystical sense in your writing holds me. I am grateful for that and so I thank you. Africa fascinates me and your doorway to the landscapes, foods, people, and stories keeps me dreaming that one day I might see it with my own eyes.

Would you one day be so kind as to autograph a copy of Yet Being Someone Other for me? I would so appreciate it. I wish you many helthful years to come.

With Only Respect,

Michele Matucheski
************************************
Even after all these years, this letter still means a lot to me. He had a way with words!

Who stands in your own "wings of time?"

The Uncommon Joys of a Letter in the Mail (Old Style)

I received a letter from an old friend recently.

In today's electronic world, such a hand-written missive is unusual. One of her letters is a treasure to me :

* To see her handwritten script
* The texture and feel of the envelope
* It's probably handmade paper (I can see fibers and petals)
* It has a luxurious, soft and comforting feel that I want to brush against my cheek.
* The feel of it took me by surprise. Even I'm too used to email and voice-mail--not this slow communication.

We don't write as often as we used to ...

In the old days, I would always be writing a letter to her. When it got to be 7-8-9-10 pages, I would pop it in the mail to her and start a new one (usually the same day).

We knew what was going on with the other--maybe not instantly, but we kept in touch. I still have a large box full of our correspondence from those years. I'm keeping them--someday, such letters will be unusual and valuable and interesting in a way "post-modern" people won't be able to understand. And someday, our letters may be in a museum or srchive somewhere... everything is INSTANT with email and telephones. With the letters, we can keep up with each other. It's a different scale of time, not instant, but deep. Therefore, an written letter is special.

Would you be more likely to go back through a pile of old email on a rainy nostalgic day? Probably not--the font, plain paper (if it was printed at all) just doesn't have the appeal. Email is convenient and it has its place, but I'm not sure it will ever have such a feel for nostalgia. Email is too temporary, too throw-away. A written letter is all about a certain point in time, but the physical medium, the feel of good stationary makes it more about history. Something to KEEP.

For most of our lives, my friend and I have lived apart. Even in junior high and high school, we wrote notes to each other. Neither of us was fond of or comfortable with telephones, so we wrote and made plans to get together.

Even now, when we do get together, it doesn't take long to catch up. And there, too, it is a comfort to be with someone who knows me so well, and for so long ...

Is it the handwriting that makes a real letter so personal?

I still have the postcards and letters from my dear friend, Sandy. She died shortly before my son was born ... Since she's gone, those cards and letters mean a lot to me. I'm glad she sent them. It's what I have left of her. We would email on occasion, too. I still have her in my address book and send her messages sometimes. I know they don't get to her that way anymore, but I can't delete her from my address book, either.

Letter from Grappa

This is a letter Grappa sent to Gramma Pickles from the nursing home earlier this month. It made me laugh to see that he is settling in so comfortably at the nursing home where "Everything is free!"

Here's the transcription (in case you can't read the above):

"Oct. ??? Don't know the town.

Dear Violet My Love
It is hard to write as there is nothing to lay the tablet on. Wish I was home. How is everything there? I hope good. You could come up here for a while. Everything is free. Food all you want. To eat, or whatever you do. You don't pay for anything. There is a lot of people you know. And best thing they do is keep you happy. Everybody gets a wheel cart so you can get around. Excuse my writing. The wheel cart goes pretty fast or slow as you want. I hope you can drop me a few lines.
Your love, Ed."

Great News! Grappa seems to be adjusting to life in the nursing home. That's good! The don't let him sleep during the day (He was sleeping most of the time at home, out of boredom, I suspect.). They keep him busy with entertainment, activities, and company. He knows many of the other residents there, too. They keep a handle on his diabetes--Gramma really didn't understand what needed to be done to manage it. And he's been on anti-depressants for the transition. When my family goes to visit him now, several times they haven't been able to find him there--he's off and doing somewhere there.

All this means Gramma can go back to being his wife, not his caregiver. That's great! Maybe absence does make the heart grow finder.