The secret to my so-far-so-good letter-writing rehabilitation is all about following the doctor's orders. Take the pills, ease up, lie back. Well, sit back. And wait. Today that was good music to my ears. Call it #2 of Limner's 12 Steps, because working with what you have is good medicine. This is what I did this Thursday afternoon:
I made a pitcher of lime water. My recipe. Should have polished the wine glass but the spots only enhanced my pleasure since I wasn't the one who had done the washing. The servant had, and I gave thanks for the blessing.
Now I know why I bought these napkins. One was meant to serve as a table cloth for my impromptu little backyard getaway. It did double duty as a trapper/keeper to save my pen from the wind.
Clumsy me! Notes flew.
Don't be fooled. I wrote a complete composition. How could I not when I had a sunny disposition? I wrote on. Took me the full afternoon to write two itty bitty letters. Moderation is the key to harmony between my body and me. I have learned that just because I don't feel pain, does not mean that I am doing myself any favors when I go full steam under the influence. Live and learn. Learn and live. Better and fuller.
Ah-h-h. All gone.
I had a lovely day at home. No scanning got done. But, at the end of the day, I had more than a lot to show for it.
10:03 P.M. Thought I'd forgotten, huh? Well, read on . . .
A Love Triangle from Valentine's Day! Isn't it lovely? And clever? And novel? Thank you! I admire the USPS for delivering this. There's one more view. For later. You gotta know when to hold 'em. Know when to fold 'em. Know when to walk away. Know when to hush up. I hush now. Am scanning. Goodnight.
10:27 P.M. Sorry. This one could not wait. This lovely envelope holds a lovely letter written on Letter Writer's Alliance stationery with one of their letterheads. I am deeply embarrassed to say that it was written on October 31, 2011. It was in a velvet lined box, but still . . . But hey, I do answer. I kinda drift around in a fog of ideas, introverted self-involvedness, introspection, artistic autism-flavored . . . Heck. I am not fully tethered to this world. Plain and simple. I am not as Earth-bound as I pretend to be. I get by the best way I know how, and that's my way. So, if I owe you mail, I don't mind being prodded if you are kind about it. Now, goodnight for real. Please forgive me Courtney so that I may sleep well tonight. I wrote to you last night and mailed the letter today.