This Saturday evening post is all about the longest letter I've ever written. It's roughly 12 x 18 inches or so in width and length. Naturally it's a Flow insert. It's been hanging around for far too long, so I took it from it's place on the desk, intent on tucking it in a gimme envelope, but time passes and it's much too large for a pocket fold sort of give. So I kept it. I almost mussed it in bed last night, while frantically searching for the refill that fell out of a gel pen case all on its own. Which proves once again that necessity is the mother of reinvention.
I always figured this was meant for a red head, but since the only one I know is . . . I'd better not say. Sorry. But I figured the recipient should be a red head who likes to read, do crossword puzzles, eat luscious fruit, enjoys sitting barefoot in a meadow of daisies with pink bird houses setting instead of hanging from trees, and she has to love plants and drinking from pitchers without glasses . . . Such a tall order to fill, not to mention those super cool red pointy toe shoes. I had to resort to using just my imagination, running away with me. I tell you it was just my imagina-a-tion running away with me-e-e.
That didn't stop me from having to put it away when the Sand Man tapped on my window pane. He was late as usual so I had to find a stopping point before he rapped on my door. Shades of Aretha, yeah. It's funny how I seldom write letters during the day; that's like not hitting the Internet in the morning. If I did, I'd get fired. One day I did the Internet first, went down to put the kettle on and you know the rest. Two nights ago I turned on the tap for a hot bath, and forgot it until JC came to ask if I'd finished building my ark.
Okay, I'm not sure of the pink elephant at Red's feet, but since it's asleep . . . We'll let sleeping elephants lie. The ghostly bees come from Susan's stamp gifts. I imagine them, the bees, applying bee balm to Red's sunburned skin. They're so gentle the buzzing doesn't disturb her one bit.
Red shoes, even with pointy toes, and pretty little daisies make every other flower feel like a second hand rose here.
She reads, she dreams of things she's read, and eats such pretty fruits. Yes, she had to have tatted that lace table cloth, don't you think? I'd have loved writing this to my daughter instead, but her skin isn't fair, and her hair isn't red. JC said to me, "Why not draw your own version instead???"
This letter-writing special was simply designed for another. It's destined to be the really long letter that it is. So I bought two new white Gel pens, set aside more leisure time, kept little jots of notes in my head to finish the thread of: An Ode to Summer. I'll be glad when it's gone. Summer, that is! It's been very unkind. Sorry, God, but it has. But, thanks for it nonetheless.
And guess what. There's a flip side to everything. Lo! and behold! A side for tonight!
Blue water, blue skies, white sand, and an ice cream man! "A perfect summer day is collecting shells and sand in your shoes." Oh, okay. Doing an old girl run through the sprinkler on purpose did it for me this day. But I say, "You do your end of summer your way." Kudos to those who did it side by side in Boston. Oh, yeah! Shades of the first tea party and such.
A special inner tube. No. Well, yeah. But only if it's long enough. Right now it looks just barely. To be, or not to be tube-ated: that is the question. Only time will tell. We can kill time if you'll tell me the most fun letter you've written in a cleverly awfully fun way of late. Forgive me first. Maybe we shouldn't "kill time" since it's so good to us. We can use some of it instead. Right? I just told you something, so now you can tell me something in return. It has to be nice though. I'll be writing in . . .