There Comes a Time (Part Two)
If I weren’t so curious about the contents of the old letters I’ve been sorting, the sorting could go a whole lot faster. As it stands, I finished only one box, and am about halfway through the second. I contacted all my sibs to ask if they’d like me to return the letters they’d written to me over the years. All but one said yes.
So, I went to the SavMor (discount grocery store) to grab the milk boxes with handles which are great for pretty much anything. I labeled each one with the names of the sibs who would like their letters back. I’m keeping the ones from Mom and Dad; Mom was such a great writer, and her letters lengthy and very descriptive. Dad wrote fewer letters, but with his usual common sense and pointed advice.
After Dad died, Mom wrote and self-published a book called “A Likely Story” - that being something Dad would say when he was amused by something one of us swore to. One night, a few years ago, on (if I’m remembering correctly) the anniversary of Dad’s death in 2001, I was reading “A Likely Story” and started sobbing as I reached the end. Just then, the Burnsville Fire Department siren went off. I think it was around 11pm. The siren is probably ¼ mile from my house; I can see it from my back windows. The next day, I called my neighbor Terri, who has a scanner, and whose son Isaac was at that time the only paid firefighter in Burnsville. I asked her why the siren went off, and she said nobody knew. Since Dad was Big Bend’s first (and third) Fire Chief, I figured he was letting me know he is still very much a part of my life.
Along the same lines - and you all know I’m not a religious or otherwise “woo-woo” person - I’d had a dream with Dad in it - on a fairly recent Hallowe’en - where he said, “Well, they HAVE to let us out tonight!” Before that, I’d been hoping he would come to me in a dream, so maybe that got through somehow. It’s possible that was another sibling’s dream - I remember decades ago, when I thought I’d had a dream about the Titanic (or maybe the Lusitania?) and my sister Kate told me that had been her dream, not mine. We had quite a tussle over that. She was probably right.
I remember Abigail DeWitt (a Yancey writer) telling a LitFest crowd that writers are always stealing from others for their stories; totally makes sense to me. I have so many of my own stories, I’ll never need to grab someone else’s. What’s that old saying? “Write what you know.”
In my boxes, there are letters from family, friends, and neighbors from my years in and around Big Bend, Milwaukee, Atlanta, DC, Florida, and North Carolina. There are a dozen or so from people whose names I do not recognize - and the contents of their letters don’t give me a clue. A couple of those appear to be from a guy who apparently knew me well; I kinda think he was a deaf guy I met when I lived on the boat in DC and was involved - in my capacity as Program Administrator at the National Theatre - in seeing that the visually- and hearing-impaired could enjoy live theatre. Communicating was difficult, to be sure. He seemed nice. I may send you all (pre-NC years) a list of names in hopes that you may recognize/remember whomever I’m referring to.
When I got through half of that second box today, I realized that it’d serve me well if I took everything off of the kitchen table, pulled it out, and added the extra four leaves I use now only when I have a bunch of people over for Thanksgiving. That would - at least - get boxes off the floor. When you have 9 siblings plus the next generation (some of whom would like their late parent’s letters), it does take up some room.
Time to watch an old episode of MidSomer Murders and call it a night. That show has been off the air for years, but I love it and am hoping I can decide to like the “new” Neil Dudgeon episodes as much as I like the original John Nettles’ episodes. Nettles was with the Royal Shakepearean Theatre for years, which gives him cred I’m not sure Dudgeon can claim. Plus, I don’t think a serious detective should have dimples. Just sayin’.
On the dog front, I’m fostering a sweet beagle named “Betty”. I hope I can keep her; I’m a nut for beagles. When I call her, she wags her tail, but doesn’t necessarily trot over. If Jim calls her, she wags her tail AND runs right up to him. So I think she must have been a man’s dog. I do think she has been mistreated; she’ll sometimes cower when I extend a hand to pet her. She gets along well with Sadie and Fang and Otter (frequent visitor). And last night - when she joined me and Fang on the bed - was the first night I got a good night’s sleep in days!
It’s possible I meant to tell you more; hopefully - if that’s the case - it’ll come to me before the next time I attempt to write (under the influence) about what’s going on here.
OH, OH! Big news! I met today with Ruth Banks’ granddaughter and daughter-in-law. RuthFest is on for October 17th this year, and will be an annual event henceforth! Details will follow, of course.
xox
Lucy