Good--afternoon!
My sister no. 5 wrote me last night to tell me that the photograph of the Bay and the power plant is ugly, and that I should put on a prettier one. OK, I will be putting on a better one, and more than one, in the future. But you know what? When I look at that picture I only see the luminosity of the darkening twilight, that night in February. And the rose colored beauty of the air.
I am late coming on today because I got deflected. My husband had to go to the new heart doctor at the crack of dawn (well, almost) and I was out on the freeway at precisely the time I'd normally be writing. Then we went to the Iowa Meat Farms and got some first class ground beef. I hope. I'll pronounce judgment tomorrow about its quality. I am getting to be a very connoiseur of ground beef.
My husband's health report was pretty good, by the way. He has to have more tests but in general he is doing very well.
When we got home, I went to the room where a guest would sleep if one came, and I have a lot of clearing up to do in there because I am doing the major clear-out in that space too. The place where the bags and boxes will be culled and re-assembled. Did I get those five bags of stuff done this past Sunday as I'd planned? NO. But I did make one and a half, and added to the three bags already waiting, there were five. I'd thought to have eight by now. Well, slow and steady wins the race. And I am determined to be steady, for I have a lot of clearing out to do.
Trouble is, if you open up a bin of old letters, it's irresistable to start in reading on them...then you realize how great they were...letters WERE great, my friends. People wrote on and on at length, in longhand or sometimes in typing, in grammatically correct sentences....and they often had sketches or other bits of interest in them...So I got through one bin today. My goodness, my eldest son had talent. Talent for writing. Talent for illustration...really good drawing. And he was prolific and generous with his letters. He shared his life when he was not around. My middle son was also a writer. His sharings are drawings and mostly notes...but there are lots of them. Mostly reminders that, "I love you, Mom," and "Thank you, Mom,..." they still sit warmly on the heart when you read them. My youngest has almost no personal correspondence in that pile. If he wrote letters, even of one page, they have evaporated==and I don't believe that they ever existed in the first place. He is cautious. So the intimations of early childhood reverberate still in the status of today. He is too much like me, I guess.
My sisters, also, show a very different tendency to share themselves, their inner selves, with others. I have quite a little stack of interesting letters from No. 3, chatty and informative about her life in faraway New York. I have fewer but even more open letters ( as far as personal and inner self stuff goes) from no. 4. But from no. 2, little, and from no.3, almost nada. I myself wrote but little. My letters from my parents plead for more. I wasn't being mean. I was remote, like my youngest son, in a special way...I did not share myself much. When I did, I was witty and lively I guess...but it did not happen many times over the years...Yet how I appreciate the wonderful thoughts I got from those who did share.
Nowadays, on the Internet, we all gab away, and sometimes we say too much--my sisters and I, that is. Prudence is absent when it might most be valuable, but that is the way it is on the Internet. As for my sons, no. 1 is still quite a writer, but he doesnt have time to write much and I haven't seen a drawing of his for many years. No 3 is content to send one-word emails. And hasty photos "sent from my IPhone." And oh, how I do appreciate every scrap I get!!!....... And no 2 can't send me anything now, except once in a while, his presence in a dream. Amen. Hasta mañana, YAZZYBEL
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