Dear Diary,
It’s been a week of canceled events. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever become a recluse, since I feel bad about canceled events but also feel good about not having to go out. I’m not sure I could go all the way to Emily Dickinson levels of social avoidance. She did correspond with people, even if she didn’t get out much. Can you imagine getting a letter from Emily Dickinson with one of her charming little poems and maybe a dried flower in it?
I have all of my Grandpa Harry’s and Grandma Lois’s letters to each other from their early days. I have letters that my Dad wrote to my Mom when they were engaged. Her letters to him mysteriously disappeared. My husband and I have all the letters that we’ve written to each other over the years. Isn’t all this correspondence a treasure of some kind? I often thought how wonderful it would be to move into a house where family letters had been left in the attic for the next occupant (me) to find and read. Of course, I always assumed that those letters would be novel worthy, but chances are they’d be more like the letters that my great-grandmother Nettie wrote to my grandmother Lois after Lois got married, detailing everybody’s illnesses back at home. Yes, I have those letters, too.
I wrote oodles of letters to my mom. She gave them all back to me a few years before she died, so I have both sides of our correspondence now.
What to do with all these letters? I just can’t throw them away.
I suppose that will be for the next generation to do.
Reporting from the Sticky Chair, as usual.
I couldn’t possibly throw all these blog posts away. That will be for the next generation of bloggers.
Lynniebeemuseoday 