When I was eight, my grandmother gifted me my first diary. She must have ordered it from the Lillian Vernon Catalog. It was bright pink with tiny yellow and purple hearts. It had a lock and key. I was tickled.
I began writing in my diary on January 1, 1987. Since I hated boys and didn’t have any secrets to record, I wrote about my days. Math class-basketball practice-sleepover. Reading class-basketball practice-dinner with the neighbors. Math class-basketball practice-Connect Four with Beej and Trish. After a month, I realized that my third grade life lacked variety. My diary had become repetitive, so I set it aside.
In middle school the expected intrigues sprouted, so I began to journal. At about the same time, I became a prolific letter writer. For almost two decades, I penned three and four page letters on fine paper with fancy pens provided by my father. During those formative years, I filled pages and sent them to friends around the world. I loved the tactile experience of putting words to the page, of embroidering my stories on paper.
Several years ago, I abruptly stopped writing letters. I still have an abundance of beautiful stationery, and I sign important documents with Dad’s Waterman pens. Why did I abandon a beloved and soothing activity? I often hear people say that they just don’t have time to write letters, and although time is a consideration, I don’t really buy that explanation. We choose how to spend our precious time—with family, in front of Netflix, at the gym, or hard at work. Although I am nostalgic for the ambitious letter-writing me, I choose to use my leisure time differently. I want to take walks with my friends, and I want to share meals with them. For now, face-to-face exchanges with loved ones take precedent over letters.
Yet the blank page still calls to me. Its emptiness is an inspiring, potential space of creation. When I sit down in front of a blank piece of paper or a white computer screen, ideas shoot through me and chains of words form in my mind’s eye. Some of them make their way to this blog—a crisscrossed echo of the journaling and letter-writing I left behind. Happily, I am still “embroidering”.
Inspriations
My lovely friend Dana is a talented letter writer who blogs about all things mail on Save Snail Mail.
Thomas Mallon’s book Yours Ever investigates letter writing in the western world.
I once visited the delightful Musée des Lettes et Manuscrits where I saw several of Matisse and Picasso’s letters. Sadly, the museum closed in 2010.
Heart-shaped cookies abound! In the spirit of the season, I developed a savory cut out cracker recipe for a Valentine aperitif. Since I forego frosting and sprinkles, this treat is relatively low maintenance.
Tea and citrus got me through my week with influenza. When I got sick, I immediately cut myself off from the world and settled in for a week of quiet recuperation. I didn’t have much of an appetite during my bout with the flu, but fluids perked me up. Warm lemon water with honey soothed my throat, sparkling water quenched my thirst, and hot tea gave me warmth and comfort.