Letter 19

Dear Josephine,

I was unable to decipher your voicemail message from the chatter in the background, or perhaps the disapproval I heard edging into your voice, and voted against returning your call. Please accept this letter as my sincerest apologies in not writing to you for nearly two months.

I've been to Ohio to D.C. and back again, and am happy to finally be home for one week as I've missed my bed and that element of stability (shocking I know). Lately life has been very stressful at work and at home, and I'm trying to go day-by-day, which is proving to be easier than I thought. I pegged myself a planner as I've been writing "to do" lists since the age of 5, but I think I've mellowed in the recent months.

I've stopped my frantic search for rusty terrains and have devoted myself to groundings and morning walks and d.c. humidity. I'm sure the terrains will once again dominate my dreams, but for now I am content to walk this same path. Everything looks better and its only been a year since this journey has begun. How can so much change in 12 months?

I won an award at work and really want to splurge on this cute dress:

(see the july 23 post)

Instead I'm putting it towards my credit card bill, which appears to refuse to remotely topple. It's frustrating.

I like this advice: "Sometimes you put walls up not to keep people out, but to see who cares enough to break them down.”

I really want to tell you more but I am exhausted and need to sleep. Tomorrow has promises for being a long day.

Love to you,

l.c.

Letter 17

Dear Josephine,

There are eternities between spaces. That is my excuse for not writing you sooner; I became lost and found again, an object brought in to discuss during show and tell, although there was all show and no tell.

I am seriously considering a career in educational assessment/testing, and find this both humorous and depressing (in that my life is being carved out at such a young age). I dream of Grecian shores and western mountains. These will be part of the carving, at some point. I think life means learning patience.

How many vague statements can I write to you; will you interpret them as thinly veiled bull-shit or abstractions of truth?

I've finished On the Road and it struck me to be about understanding people's faults and recognizing their beauty and importance in one's life and appreciating everything - in the ramblings was America, in a form rarely seen yet seen everyday.

Take me on a road trip, Josephine. Let's wander down the southern coast and lose ourselves in Texas. We can pretend we've been abandoned by circumstances and intended mistakes, frequent dinners and converse with strangers. I'm packing an atlas and a handful of dresses, I suggest you bring water bottles and suntan lotion. Summer is here, and her heat makes fools of us all.

yours,

l.c.s.

Letter 15

Dear Josephine,

Everything in this universe seems to be aligning into some sort-of reality that contains my wishes and it scares me and makes me very happy at the same time. If I could cross my toes I would; instead I read wikipedia articles about communication mergers and mining companies, and focus on the discovery of anklyosaurus, celebrating the latter as a bizarre full circle and message proclaiming, “Be bold. Be bold. Be bold.” In jubilation I focus on dimmer lighting and dusky reds and kindness. I write to define a greater purpose, a definition as vague as the term allows. I surround myself with honey and brown rice green tea, spontaneous weekends, and stuff good karma into my pillow at night.

love,

l.c.

Letter 12

Dear Josephine,

Well, when one is drunk, one finds herself a prophet. I do believe in all those things I listed in my last letter, although my endorsement of them are a bit more pronounced (and generic) upon glass numero tres of red wine.

Anyway, this weekend I went with my mother to The Library of Congress. The "great hall" is stunning in its architecture and painted walls, which are embossed with many quotes, among them: "The light shineth in the darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not." It struck me to silence.

Can't that quote be applied to the meaning of ignorance?:

ig·no·rance (ĭg'nər-əns) : n. The condition of being uneducated, unaware, or uninformed.

Isn't the darkness ignorance? And in this cloak of darkness there is an inability, or a lack of participation in the quest, to understand "truth"? Here, blindness, even in the brightest of places.

Later, dressed in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, I "googled" the phrase. I wasn't surprised to learn it's from the bible.

John 1:

"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.

"Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.

"There came a man who was sent from God; his name was John. He came as a witness to testify concerning that light, so that through him all men might believe. He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light. The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world."

Lord! Look at that multifaceted narrative. It's really quite brilliant. Here "word" becomes "Word", which changes the meaning, or at least the intention of the word, entirely. And John is both an observer and a channel of knowledge and creation. That excerpt is a fold within itself.

Right now, I'm listening to Dire Straits "Romeo and Juliet". I'm fascinated by the impetus provided by literary texts. Inspiration, inspiration, you sneaky woman. We all steal stories, I suppose.

Lately I've been unable to give voice to my thoughts, and even now I find this letter to be inadequate. I've become quieter and more contemplative, and this is a good thing. Kenneth Bruffee once said (paraphrase here): "Writing is conversation internalized re-externalized onto paper." I believe that. Another bullet to the list.

yours,

l.c.

Letter 9

Dear Josephine,

Reading On the Road is causing me to become an emotional train wreck. In addition, it's causing me to hoard all of my money and live off of yogurt, fruit, pizza, and honey/tea. Why? Because, I'm trying to save money to pay off my credit card bill. These are the ties that bind. I'm desperately seeking other terrains -- this summer I'm going on a road trip to quell this wanderlust/hunger that's driving me crazy.

Do not: mention sands, mountains, rivers, or valleys; sing to me, "do not hasten to bid me adieu"; draw maps and lines that intersect like highways and byways; radios and heat and higher altitudes. Do: whisper Washingtonian summers, dance parties, and metro rails. It's always on my mind.

I need to learn how to drive a manual. I am going to have to find someone to teach me. I need to learn patience. I also need a second job.

Damn finances.

This letter is cynical. I wish you days full of confetti, as I associate those strips of garbage with celebratory evenings and noteworthy success stories.

And yes, I do appreciate your constant support.

always,

l.c.