Happy Earth Day!
Congratulations on your 45th year of celebration.
To honor you on your day, I mailed 4 of the 5 letters I'd written, picked up my prescriptions, did a little food shopping, returned to pick up a new prescription, and called it a day. Well, I bought a slice of cheesecake to celebrate with you too. I put back the Ben & Jerry's Caramel Sutra.
It's raining again. The pomegranates seem to thrive on it. The grapes not so much. I love taking care of my share of the world that is on loan to me and mine. I enjoy nurturing the earth beneath my feet. Not much beats the food I grow, the flowers I've planted, the seeds I harvest, or the harvests I share with family and neighbors.
Thanks for putting up with us, for nurturing us, and for being our home planet.
Here's a look at the Samuel Leghorne Clemens notecard from the "Card Catalog" box. I always think of "The Ransom of Red Chief" when I think of Mark Twain. I know O. Henry wrote the story, so go figure. It reads like a tale Twain would have written. I love how stories are gathered and homed under a single cover, called a book. I love books. If I ever have to be confined or in solitary confinement, I wouldn't mind as long as I had a book. I could survive any zombie apocalypse as long as I had access to a library, a bookstore, or my own home, where books abound.
Here's a link to an awesome homage to the love of the book. I love this man. I might even be in love with him. I might love him as much as I love Dwight Howard, James Harden, Josh Smith . . . I love him enough to croon Al Green to him. I'd sing, "Let's get married today. Might as well." Perhaps I love his loving books this much. Can you imagine having such patience and knowledge? One has to know a thing in order to repair it. You have to know how it is made, inside-out in order to repair it from the outside-in.
I love the ancient art of storytelling too. It was a staple from my childhood, and I still enjoy the same oft-told-tales my mother enjoys offering on the altar of the past when she asks, "Remember the story about . . ." and I listen like I've never heard it before.
We tell stories too, you and I. We tell a story with each letter we send. We read each other's storied letters. We share something of who we are, who we were, and what we want to be in our words that hold our hopes for what may come. We tell of our towns, our families, our country, our experiences . . . We ask questions in hope of hearing more of a story that captivates us, or one that might bring us closer to understanding the penner. A follow-up letter often bears a rehash of the beginning, a lovely middle, and perhaps an ending. We often do what I learned in my first creative writing class in college, "Show, don't tell." The showing comes with colorful descriptives, photographs, embellishments, private words that hold naked emotions, and most of all our truth. We tell tales with each letter that sets sail across the distances between us.
I love a good letter. Ask me to define "a good letter" and I'll give you a different definition every time. You know what I mean though, right? There are no bad letters.
This was meant to be. The date stamp is several years old, but it felt like it was made for the "Card Catalog" notecards. The Library of Congress and stories, and storytellers, and letter writers are wonderful things to be. April is the month to view our world with new eyes, review our footprints with a promise to tread a more friendly path across Mother Earth, and renew a commitment to telling our stories through letters and notes. Write on.
As promised, here's a better view.
From me to you.
P.S. No. 44 today. That's two letters per day!