10/09 |
| Dear Alice, |
| The leaves have already turned and winter seems a moment away. In your recent letter from the north country you described glorious color. I remember many a fall season there, working in the harvest and seeing the hidden glories of Mother Nature. This time of year is often dreary for my heart. I truly miss the home front and my dear parents. I envy you for living in a small town away from the faults of urban living. I’m tired of it all and would give a million (If I had it!) to go home again to the small town and dear friends. Most of those I knew are gone, so it is the passage of time that ails me. |
| I’ll be 66 years old soon, and it’s strange how the mind works as one approaches old age. I find myself thinking about the past and how I might have handled things differently. This week I am remembering a long lost love, a young boy I met in the hall when we were in the fourth grade. We met at the water fountain outside the classroom of an old school building with oiled wood floors. He had just moved to our small town from another not far away. What I remember most about him at that time was his gentle, smiling eyes. My heart was captured immediately as only a fourth grader can do. We just had chemistry and thus began a decade of unrequited love. For reasons I cannot fathom, he didn’t follow through on this attraction. Once in the sixth grade I sent him a valentine that was simple, saying “Who loves you truly – I dooly.” When I got home I regretted my choice and went back to the school room and fetched the card from the decorated box that would be opened the next day. Through high school he showed only casual interest. I told no one of my attraction, and suffered immeasurably through all the school dances, wishing he would ask me to dance. All I really wanted was to dance in his arms, gliding across the floor to slow, dreamy music or dancing the jitterbug with all the right moves. He was a good dancer and had a sense of rhythm. Occasionally he would ask me, and we were a natural couple. But we never did connect as a couple for dating. He was feeling his oats, I guess, and sampling the lovelies to be had. Much later, during my engagement party in my junior year in college he took me aside and said, “I always thought we were going to be together.” I was so angry at his timing. |
| Well, Alice, the rest is history. After my divorce and while my father was dying, Lane and I met a few times. The feeling was lackluster and my father made me promise not to marry him. He knew the self-centeredness of Lane would never make me happy. |
| I might as well get this age thing all out. Bear with me, Alice dear. Lately I have been yearning for a baby. Mind you, I am almost 66 years old, so timing is way off. What I would like is a nine month old baby, boy or girl, for about a month. I would shower this sweet, innocent babe with laurels of love. The baby smells would enchant me, and we would have lots of baths. I would dress the baby in the best of soft , pretty clothing, and we would go for walks in a stroller in the sun. Best of all I would hold him and sing to him, conjuring up Irish lullabies and humming softly in his ear. Guess it would be a boy. I can almost feel his soft hair and hear his gurgling happy sounds. |
| Do you ever feel any of this, Alice? We’re only a few years apart and you have raised a family, too. Is this part of the passage into old age? Am I nuts? |
| I’m in the middle of reading your latest book. What strikes me most is its directness, honesty and real beauty of words. It reminds me of May Sarton whose work I greatly admire. You have a wonderful way of engaging the reader, Alice, and of course the subject matter of small town living is dear to my heart. Your inclusion of the storytelling is so relevant. I wonder if it still goes on today. |
| God bless you, Alice – waiting to hear from you. Love, S. |