Wednesday, March 16, 2011

44

Well, it's that time of year again. I've turned another year older. I don't mind that so much, but I am concerned at how quickly life seems to be passing by. I'm not sure where my 30's went, and all of a sudden I'm mid-40's. Ouch. How did that happen?

I'm a little superstitious. Just a little. I admit that this coming year makes me a little nervous. You see, my Mom was the age I am now when she had a massive heart attack. She survived, but there was a lot of damage; she was never the same. Man, did that seem old to me at the time. It sure doesn't now.

Somehow this last year, I've seen the need to move faster, move quicker. It's like there's something driving me. I'm not sure what it is, but there's some urgency to the call.

Hopefully next year, I'll have accomplished something that I've always dreamed of doing.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

The Art of Letter Writing to your Best Friend...

Today is a day of mixed emotions for me. I'm both excited and feeling sorry for myself. Excited because I have a new cousin. Sad that I couldn't be there to see her join the family.

Let me now explain myself...

I grew up far away from all of my 12 cousins. In fact, many of them were a lot older than me - a lot. There was one, however, who was close in age to me (I was 18 months older) and we were best friends. He was the closest thing I ever had for a brother.

We first met when I was four and he was almost three. We met again when I was nine, 14, and 17. It wasn't until his family came for a full two and a half week visit when I was 21 that we really bonded. That visit had a profound effect on our relationship. Something magical took place. We did the silly things young people do: wandering around Lumberland together looping bungee cables on to the loops on the back of our respective shirts and walking around the store for a bit. One day while we were shopping at the mall with our families, we popped into a bookstore and I purchased a copy of War and Peace. I said, "Well, at least you can say your cousin doesn't read crap." Obviously surprised and impressed, he said, "No. I can't." (And, yes, I did read it in case you were wondering).

I was stunned at how devastated the loss was after they'd left. I literally cried for weeks - perhaps even months - afterwards. I was miserable. And the only way I knew of to alleviate that pain of loss was to write to him - and write lots. It was the start of a furious correspondence. Within days of their departure, the letters started (literally) flying back and forth across the ocean.

I wasn't just spilling my guts on paper for the sake of writing. No. I was writing to my best friend who I knew would read my letters soon. I also knew he'd write back and almost literally every day when I came home I eagerly looked for an envelope with his handwriting. It was the highlight of my day. It always made me sad to read the last page of his letters because I knew I'd probably have to wait a few more weeks before I'd receive another. Letters - especially the missives we sent to each other - took so long to write but could be read so quickly. Our letters were almost literal blow by blow descriptions of our daily lives.

Kids these days. Bah. They knew nothing of letter writing. They know nothing of writing, period. That's my biggest bitch of the Internet: the butchery of the English language. It's shocking how many people (especially young people) can't tell the difference between "your" and "you're" or "there" their" and "they're". It drives me mad.

They know nothing of the pain of waiting. They don't even get the joy of reading a lot of their "bff's" inmost thoughts. They'll never know how just writing to your best friend can be healing in and of itself. Their friends will never see the authenticity of tear drops on the pages as the writer shares the pain of her latest break up. They'll never know the spontaneous card and handwritten (not typed) letter with some mementos (a photo, a sampling of art work from the kids you worked with, or some such thing).

They'll never know the feeling of knowing that no one else would read these words; there was no chance. Those words were on paper and were secreted away and kept close by for re-reading and furiously guarded. It would have been an abomination to have someone else read them. These words were sacred. At least they were to me. Somehow just holding the same paper they had made you feel so close to that person. On the bad side, paper can be lost. And that's a shame. Some of those letters were special, very special. I remember one in particular: the way the letter had been placed in the envelope, he'd accidentally spilled the secret he'd been building up to the whole letter: he was coming for another visit. I'm sure he heard my screams of delight and excitement all the way from my room.

They'll never know the pain of having to wait until you get home to tell them you miss them after leaving them at the airport. But the recipient could tell by the tears on the page when he got the letter a week later. They'll never know the long running inside jokes that if other people read your letters would think you were "stark raving mad". Perhaps we were. I looked forward to writing to him. It was my pass time. It was what I loved to do. He was always on my mind.

My hands would ache from writing sometimes. But this was my best friend and he was worth the physical pain. I'm sure his hand often ached, too. Eventually, the letters went from handwritten to typed - an improvement on our output and was easier on the hands. To this day, I love listening to music while I write which was something I used to do while writing to him more often than not.

I always knew it wouldn't last forever and I dreaded it. I knew we had something very special and I didn't want it to end - but I knew it would one day. I knew we'd both eventually get married and even though we'd always write to each other, it wouldn't be the same as what we had at the moment.

We've always kept in touch, though since I got married not as much as I would like. We originally scorned the idea of email. After all, we both agreed that there was nothing like seeing a package in the mail at the end of a long, hard day. I wonder now if there was email back in the 80's and early 90's if we would have been as close. Somehow I don't think so. It was because we had to put so much effort into our letters that kept us close. There's no effort to email; there's no privacy.

So, it's with great joy that I'm excited that he has is now married to his best friend. It's also tinged with a little sadness that I can't be there to share that special day with him.