The Lost Art of Writing Letters

1/25/14 21:30

I’m thinking of Andy Rooney at this moment since over the last few months, I have sent out a few letters to writers and none responded.  Why not?  What happened to the art of writing a letter?  Are we too wrapped up in the email, Twitters and Face Books, blogs, instant grams, and anything else which are forms of communication, but let’s be honest - most are displays or reports of our lives.  This is different.  Writing and sending a letter through the post office takes time and patience.  I think of years ago when I’d write to Charles Bukowski or William S. Burroughs, James Purdy, Tess Gallagher and all wrote back.  There were the baseball players like Bobby Richardson, Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams.  They wrote back.  There was the typical waiting period after sending a letter.  It may take a couple of weeks, maybe three…at most.   But each time I would receive a letter or a card back.  The idea is to write a letter of appreciation for their work and perhaps ask for some advice or if they would consider reading some of my writing.  The response I received was a gesture of their gratefulness since I took the time to write a letter.  All of the writers I mentioned said I could send some of my work, and I received their insight.  Charles Bukowski edited one of my poems since he was too hung over to write.  These letters were a distant connection, but we met through our words and our pens.  Sure, it takes time for someone to write the letter and print it, fold the paper, place a stamp on it and write the address on the outside.  What has happened to the intimate moments when we can feel the words under our eyes and read the letter more times than just deleting it?  Filing it?  What has happened?  Are we impulsive and inpatient?  I can agree to certain correspondence which an email will suffice especially for business and to check in, but a thank you letter in recognition for a writer’s work or an artist and I’m including sports stars - should not be an email.  So, I will keep on writing and hope a good person out there would take the time and respond.  There may come a time when writing a letter will become antiquated and I guess it has, but I hope we don’t forget how to fill out an envelope and write a letter.  Perhaps letter writing will return like the sound of music on an LP which sounds richer and increased the sales of the album.  Maybe we can go back and write letters?  Last week I sent two letters.  Maybe some of those I wrote to… misplace my letters since the weeks have turned into months; I’m still waiting for Jim Harrison, Russell Baker, Harvey Mackay, and President Carter to respond…and you too Stephen King.  My grandmother told us, patience is a virtue, seldom found in a woman and never found in a man.  I’m waiting Grand Ma…still waiting….Mr. Harrison reads...

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From Long Island to DC to witness President Obama's Second Inauguration

1/22/13 18:26 on the train Northport

How was the inauguration?  There were some who saw my pictures on Face Book.  I should sign in today and check what was written.   The comments, the likes... There are those who check on FB as if it is a lifeline to the world.  I’m not there and don’t want to be.  You can say this is a contradiction since I linked the blog to FB.  There are some stories I will post and others that will remain in the hidden chambers of these files.  So how was it?  Four years ago there was a different excitement in the air.  Those of us in the crowd of almost two million would say it was a festive occasion.  I didn’t feel the same.  Maybe since we had tickets?  Maybe since we expected Joe and Diana to join us as well as my son?  Amanda was in Boston?  Sunday night; I was stressed out.  I was even thinking maybe we can skip this thing and watch it on TV.  Who needs the stress?  Four years before, we dealt with long lines from the Metro station, long lines getting into the station, long lines onto the platform, onto the packed train and shuffling for blocks like zombies on packed city streets in DC. That was then.  I had everything planned, we leave by 7 - the latest.  Park the car and get into the station.  We bought our Metro tickets already - to save time.  If I can’t park the car in the lot, I will bring it back to the hotel and jog the two miles to the station.  Okay, I was a little obsessive about this thing.  I would do it if necessary.  It was not necessary.  I parked the car and we walked right up to the platform and felt like this was going to be easy.  It was not as easy as I thought.  Humanity swelled in the streets.  The crowds for these events are compacted and squeezed like herds of animals down into the narrow industrial strength steel fences, kept off the grasses and kept contained. Not to say we were going to get in trouble.  We were hoarded through metal detector devices. I was waved with a wand held by a lesbian who asked me if I had a belt on.  Yes.  Her mechanical voice sounded as if she was spat out from boot camp a few days before.  Yes, it’s a belt.  That’s my zipper.  The alarm went off.  It’s closed.   No bump.  It’s cold.  To feel any peace of mind, the ongoing concept of threat was subdued.  Silhouettes of sharp shooters, peered down from the peaks of roofs.  It was a warmer day than fours ago.  The sky was grey for the most part.  But this is one event in history - where humanity intermingles within inches, there is no such thing as personal space.  No need to freshen one’s breath as I encountered numerous wafts of digested meals on warm breaths.  We were told to go from one entrance to another and from there I was mixed with a group of young men who cussed on about how they were attending Yale - obviously trying to impress some younger women around them.  Bella was shocked with the language they were using.  What can I say my love? She is ten and the term asshole, makes a real impression on a ten-year old's imagination.  This is the same place where we were mixed with the exclusive company of mink coats, private designed wardrobes, hair styles that were expensive and molded for hours, and when set among the anonymous souls -  looked downright - outright ridiculous.  Did you pay a lot for that contraption? Why bother?  Did you tell your girlfriends you were going to see the President?  Why?  There was one point when we waited to cross the street, waited for a good twenty minutes till my eye balls rolled in urine, I was crying holding the pee and when we crossed we ran like the fools.  Well I couldn’t run.  A woman fell in front of me and when I went to help her up a guy shoved me off her, not too rough of a shove ‘cause I would have swatted him.  Let’s be civil here.  I made it to the barren Porto-Potty and released the steamy stream into the weird blue color abyss and felt a relief like no other.  When I came out to find my patient family waiting they were not there.  Instead I was staring at the blank faces of strangers, their eyes rolling in urine, waiting for their turn of glory.  Ali and Emma and Bella were gone.  Seized up by the tide and washed into the ocean of heads and coats and oblivion.  I went back and found a spot near one of the statues, with a view of where the speech would be given. I calmed myself since my calls were not going through - nor the texts.  I imagined getting back to the car and waiting in the cold parking lot since I could not reach Ali.  Till one message came in and we were only twenty yards away from one another.  I didn’t see them till the President was speaking.  Not that they could see what I saw, but I regret they were not with me.  Emma would have had some excellent shots since she brought her camera.  While the speech was going on, I became friends with those around me.  There was a young black boy who I helped to sit on the railing and an older black man who needed to rest against the railing since he had an ailing back.  For some reason he reminded me of my Father-In-Law.  We were all strangers and yet one unified family as we listened to history project over the loud speakers and into our hearts.

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Taking Ma to church to see Jimmy Carter in Plains GA

10/13/12 09:18 Atlanta I can’t remember the last time I took a trip which involved only my mother. The idea was building for over a year, ever since I drove my family down to Florida and we stopped in Plains to attend a Bible study with President Carter. Last year I wanted to take her, but with Ali’s diagnosis, my attention was solely on my wife getting better and being more supportive with my children. Ma and I have read a few of his books. The first for me was Living Faith which I waited in line for hours to get my copy signed at Book Revue in Huntington. I was one of the first on line and learned soon enough, the line goes quickly, I was told by some veterans of his signings - you may get a nod, but there was no personalized copies and none would be signed Jimmy Carter…only a J carter. Keep the line moving. I wish I had more time and since then there was some more signings, but with each signing the meeting was brief. Once he shook my hand. When we came home from Florida; I shared the time in Carter’s small church in Plains and the special warmth I felt in his presence, there was no rush in church. This was a place where the word of God was spoken by one a former President of the United States. What incredible knowledge. Afterwards we had our picture taken with The Carter’s and eventually we moved on out of town. Since then I bought Ma some of his Bible Teachings - CD’s – he has two that are available to the public. She listens to them, but I knew if there was a chance, I would take her to Plains. This year I saved my money and we set on a date. October 14 – which was my grandmother’s birthday, Ma’s mother… I worked a half day from home. By 1 PM I was shutting down, made a peanut butter sandwich since I’m meatless, finished packing, loaded the car with my bag and called Ma to say I was coming over. While driving to my parent’s house on the windy 25A, I listened to classical music, watched the changing patterns of the leaves and saw the Halloween decorations in store windows. I made it home and honestly with some surprise I saw a small black traveler’s bag, a small knapsack and she was ready. I hugged by brother-in-law and we pulled out of the driveway. Ma asked if she could sit in the back seat. Sure Ma whatever makes you feel comfortable. Like Driving Miss Daisy, I backed out of the driveway and we were off to Laguardia. The flight was leaving at 6 and we had enough time to get there. I noticed she’d keep her eyes covered, and I thought it was the sun, but knew she was nervous with me driving. I am not a bad driver, but my mother was in a serious car accident when she was younger. Two women in the car died that day. If Ma did not move over to the middle of the back seat, she’d be dead. Ma’s first senior moment was finding her driver’s license which she needed to check in through security, more people passed us as she searched and I know praying to Saint Anthony till she found it, and she did. The flight was smooth. The jet was larger than I expected, a 757…the night sky was clear as we passed tiny clusters of city lights. I played The Wings for Ma on my Itouch, Uncle Albert, Let Him In…she listened and bobbed her head back and forth. Those songs brought me back to when I was a kid listening to the music at our neighbor's house, Linda and Mac still live there. Hands across the water…water…hands across the clear blue sea…. and we landed. We trudged slowly to retrieve the luggage, walked to the rental car, walked to the rental and made it to the hotel late. Parked the car in a public parking across from The Courtyard on Carnegie in Atlanta – a very nice place to stay, I was surprised it was a Courtyard it was very modern . I don’t think I would forget the look of Ma’s glazed and tired eyes as she asked in her Irish brogue oh so very nicely and with hope, “Do you think we’d get some dinner?” Of course. 10/14/12 07:05 Columbus GA I woke up before the alarm. I slept very well. Yesterday was a full day in Atlanta, and then an hour and a half drive to Columbus. After walking through the Olympic park, feeling the settled peace in the Southern city - the air was clean and the sun was out in a clear blue sky, and seeing inside the CNN center we walked back to the parking garage to get the car. I explained to the woman at the checkout I lost the ticket…she was nice $15.00 was the price – for a lost ticket and I assume was the same price to park overnight. I have to say everyone has been very nice and accommodating – Ma and I make a point to say something, he is my son or I am on this tour with my mother. It sets the precedent. Isn’t that nice… a mother and her son. The waitress yesterday was very nice. Ma asked… and has asked each time she’d like something to drink – do you have decaf tea? On the flight down…no mam. A flight attendant brewed a pot of decaf coffee. Yesterday she had hot water with lemon. For lunch, it was a late meal; the waitress at Highland Bakery offered some selections of herbal tea. Yesterday we spent most of the day at the MLK site. I wanted Ma to feel as though she had as much time as she needed. This was the first time she’s been here. There was a lot to take in. I’m looking at the time: we’re supposed to be leaving this hotel in fifteen minutes. Time to go, and finish packing. 1900 clouds outside my window Today was a very memorable day. We were on the road by 7:30 - well make that 7:45 since Ma couldn’t find her purse, then needed a clothes hanger though she was going to take one from the room. I explained it was not a good idea, oh you’re right. Besides we were going to church, she said and that would be stealing. I asked a woman at the front desk if she had a metal hanger and she did. We were set. Like I said we were on the road by 7:45. We made it down to Plains Maranatha Baptist church before 9:00. We passed Fort Bennington, the entrance was grand with statues, Roman columns as if it was an imposing wall of force. The drive was easy and slow because Ma would remind me and ask me to watch my speed and go slow, Ms Daisy I am driving carefully. We passed fields with hovering steam over the plants. Rows of short plants with what looked like snow plants -white balls of flowers and we soon discovered was cotton. Relics of homes with battered tin roofs and caved in walls, a donkey used for refuge from the morning sun. Red dirt roads, the color looked like fire ants. There were signs as we approached Plains, 45 miles and such. Plains…home of the 39th President of the United States. There was minimal traffic on the road. A Sunday morning in the South can be peaceful. President Carter’s class begins promptly at 10:00. There were cars in the parking lot. I brought some Cliff Bars and we ate quickly and drank some water. That was our breakfast. We rushed as best as we could to get inside. We checked ourselves in with the secret service officers who checked the camera and phone and we went in. I realized I left my glasses in the car and went back outside. Actually went back twice. When I came back one of the women ushers asked - what was mother’s first name. Rita I said. OK…I wasn’t sure why she asked. Before President Carter comes out, we are given a lesson of the norms of what to expect and how to behave. The woman giving the lesson, Miss. Jan was Amy Carter’s fourth grade teacher. She was stern but had a great sense of humor. The President will ask each section where you’re from, if you hear your state or country, please don’t repeat it. I called out Ireland since Ma wasn’t going to say anything. The Bible lesson we are told is approximately one hour. If we stay for the lesson and the service we can have our picture taken with President Carter and The First Lady. The theme of today’s lesson was on standing up for what is right, Fairness. The rich and powerful should be obligated to take care of those who are poor and weak, the disadvantage. I had to ask Ma as she’s sitting next to me what was the theme? I knew the word began with an F. Fairness….I might have to shut this down since I have inches to type. It’s not the turbulence which is not as bad as when I flew back from Florida. Though it’s shaking and Ma is sitting here in silence. I felt sorry for her and we chatted about some of the examples of unfairness, which President Carter described, civil rights and immigration issues, the poor and how our society has changed especially politics. When President Carter ran against Governor Reagan, there was no such thing as PACS or huge corporate donations…each shared a pool that was donated by the citizens on their tax returns. I think he mentioned up to two dollars was the most any citizen could donate. Before the service began we had ten minutes to get up and use the bathrooms. I got up and went. When I came back, Ma had tears in her eyes. She said, “I can’t speak…” And looked to the woman to her right for some reassurance, she moved closer to Ma. A brown bag was in her lap, my hands are shaking. She pulled out a signed book which President Carter inscribed, To Rita J Carter…Ma thought I had something to do with it…not at all. I understand The Carter’s won’t sign anything at church and this was a rarity. After service we had our picture taken, at lunch at Dylan’s which Ms. Jan explained was the only place open on a Sunday morning in Plains…I think she owns it. We drove to President Carter’s childhood home and walked in the house where the memories and stories we read about were shared in his books. I took a picture of Ma on the long white swing in the front porch. Before we left I had some boiled peanuts that a ranger cooked up on a fire outside and was given a piece of a cotton plant. This was the snow flowers we saw from the car. The drive back to the airport was about three hours. Like Ma I lost the rental keys for a few minutes after I parked the car….it was my senior moment. Either way the moments for this past weekend were blessed by God…thank you for reading this…