Page 16 - WTP VOl. XIII #2

In the year stretching from 2021 back to 2020, I chal- lenged myself to organize my belongings. Being a reader and a writer—and worse, a sentimental one— the most unwieldly of those possessions are paper- based: letters, books, journals, notes of every type, ar- tistic creations from our kids. Perhaps there was some deliberation in setting this year—marked by pandemic and isolation, by fire and drought—as the time to im- pose some order and design on my personal past.
The toughest challenge was sorting through and par- ing down a bulging box of letters. In the process, I read stacks of letters spanning the decades, regions, and stages of my own past—and that of friends and fam- ily members. I was astounded to realize how, even as we documented the details, our lives and relationships revolved around the exchange of letters. Acknowledg- ing the essence of the letters and the act of exchanging them helped me to decide which to keep and which to let go of. Reflecting on the experience will result, ironi- cally, in more words, more pages...
A, B, C, D
Addresses matter. Without the current address, leg- ibly captured, the letter would not be delivered to that friend who’s moved, or your mother who’s alone and missing you, or your sister half a world away, or your boyfriend working in the Yukon. Return ad- dresses are a critical component of so many letters, ensuring that response; that continued connection. One friend takes a full page of her letter to outline her addresses over the coming month, as she anticipates how her travel will unfold. Other letters open or close with an updated address, or by providing, or seeking, the address for a mutual friend.
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Books are often referred to, recommended, re- membered.
In one letter, a friend from high school tells me that she remembers me “burning the midnight oil writ- ing pages and pages on the Bronte sisters.” She says she “can hear my low-key chuckle.” She wonders if I remember her—and I do, still, remember this dark- haired, slender and pretty, unassuming girl. She goes on to share how she’s happily married and with a barn and 20 acres. It’s good to read how she had all she needed, other than, perhaps, a network of close friends. She mentions having been in Vancouver once, so we must have exchanged letters over the years that took me from Maine to British Columbia.
Another letter, undated, is from a Susan. I have no idea if it’s the same girl, perhaps before she was so happily situated as the other letter depicts. The hand- writing is different. (Does our handwriting change?) This young woman mentions being unhappy at her small college where the students seem arrogant and unapproachable. They remind her of some of our high school classmates. Did our high school somehow foster an inability to make new friends and adjust to a broader world? Or are these problems of relation- ship typical for teens?
Her letter mentions enjoying Ken Kesey, and I’d scribbled in the margin Gogol and Pushkin, likely in- tending to share my own discoveries from a beloved Russian Lit class.
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Courses: just as we often speak of or recommend books to one another, several letters share detailed accounts of an international relations, or art history, or business administration course.
Christina, Christie, Cindy, Cynthia, Catfish, two Cathy’s and a Kathy, are among my siblings and letter-writing friends from university or from the working years before and after.
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Dates are so often missing, or note only month and day, as if we, of course, know the year; too young, per- haps, to imagine a time we may wonder at the year, let alone the decade.
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Letters
ElizabEth tEmPlEman