Monday, April 6, 2009

The Symphony is Sizzling

With my sister getting ready to move, she is uncovering all sorts of interesting things, one being a box of letters from me going back about 34 years when she was in Seattle. These are real letters . . . in envelopes . . . typed on a typewriter; a pouring out of emotion one only tells a sister. One sentence I loved was "I long for one of our long conversations that resolve nothing but covers everything."

These letters are about as close to a journal as anything I have. It's amazing to me how unfamiliar some of the drama seemed and at the same time, the rush of memories that began flooding me. One letter detailed a "crush" I had had on a violinist/conductor. The excitement of watching him perform; the invitation to a concert; my description of what fascinated me about him. "He enters through the exits and leaves through the entrance; he talks about things I seldom allow myself to think." I had no illusion of a relationship, per se, but saw it more as an affair, even though both of us were unattached. It was exciting to me but I don't remember much more than what was in the letter. My sister reminded me that's when she sent me this apron. I'm glad she kept the letters. I'm equally glad I kept the apron.

2 comments:

Teresa J. Wilber said...

Just to have a collection of actual letters these days is something to celebrate! Especially in this email/Facebook society we have. No longer do the letters arrive in the mailbox, to read line after line, all through the evening. My stepmother gave me a similar collection of letters that I wrote home from NY, the first year we were married. I agree, it's like a journal...and I treasure them, especially for my eldest son. It chronicles many of his first few months, which I know he would enjoy. Emails just would not be able to capture those precious, heartfelt moments! Thanks for reminding me that they're still there. Smiles!

sarah in disturbia said...

Love that! What an awesome memory. Especially a surprise one. What will my children remember? What will I remember?