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long.live.letters

“What a lot we lost when we stopped writing letters. You can't reread a phone call” ~~Liz Carpenter

Receiving a letter on a birthday, Christmas or special occasion is one of those small things that bring so much joy to my life. As I carefully read over the letter or card I know that the writer took the time to find the perfect words to describe their feelings. It means the world to me when someone can verbalize a meaningful thought, write it down and give me the chance to have that memory for always.

I am currently writing letters to three of my close friends and each letter writing and receiving experience has been different. One composes her letter quickly after she gets mine, another cannot find time to respond, and the other one, well, he's in the process of perfecting a poem for me ;)

I often ponder what it would have been to live in an era where letter writing was one of the only forms of communication. Letters would take months to get to the recipient, all the while waiting with anxious patience. I hope that handwriting and sending letters continues to live. Though the cost of postage is going up and the thought of a quick, duty-free email sounds more efficient, is there really any art, heart or creativity in that?

"Let's keep this writing thing going!"--Andrea D.

camera obscura

In a manner of speaking

Tonight I was chatting with my dear friend about her recent study abroad experience in Madrid, Spain. I asked her to describe her experience in three words and she said: difficult, amazing and life-changing. She lived with an elderly Spanish woman who was a kind hostess who liked to make whatever she wanted for dinner, despite Posah's gluten-free dietary needs. She managed to go on a date with a madrileno and enjoyed traveling around through the countryside of Spain where she learned to embrace the drastically different cultures and languages that reside with in the land. It was in the breath-takingly beautiful Andalucia where she found herslf and was inspired to right a Spanish sonnet about the sun and the moon. It was in Segovia that she began to understand how differently she expressed her self in the three languages that she is fluent in: French, English and Spanish. In English she expresses herslf intellectually and deeply and in Spanish she finds that she expresses elemental feelings, some inexpressable in English with the lack of emmotional words the language has in comparison to Spanish. She did not quite describe her connection with French but I percieve that she may be able to express passionate feelings--with which the French have in abundatance.

It got me thinking about my personality in regards to the language I speak. SInce I am not a native Spanish speaker deep concepts seem a bit harder for me to describe. When discussing God and religion with my novio I had a hard time conveying my factual reasons for my faith and relied on my emmotions. Spanish is filled with descriptive adjectives and metaphors that the mother language lacks. And discovering this spurs my desire to learn to speak other languages so as to be able to communicate with that many more people in a ameaningful way. Because I had a good grasp of castellano in Buenos Aires, I was able to bridge the language and culture gap and relate to an amazing people.

Castellano, te amo con mis corazon entera, adelante me voy, frances.

Sometimes

Life rarely goes the way we think it ought to go. Unexpected bumps, bruises, smiles and surprises could make up a single day. Today I realized that when that happens you must embrace it. It's a chance to learn, grow and discover. If reality is denied for too long the moments can seem produced and far from true. And accepting this turbulent reality means steping out of yourself and seeing that your actions and reactions affect those around you, even when you think they are not watching.
This summer I am blessed to have two jobs and one of them being a day camp counselor. Today was my first day. My plan to wake up at 6:30 am failed miserably as I ran out the door 20 minutes later than I had planned to leave. The weekend past had been an emotional one to say the least and had left me heart exhausted. My preocupied mind prompted me to miss my exit and find my way back amidst the morning rush of autos. It was at this point that I broke. Tear after tear streamed my face as I was overwhelmed with the reality that I may be late for my first day of work and would disappoint my co-workers and the children. I called out to Him for joy. I felt it missing in my life and was not sure where it had all gone. I miraculously made it to work on time, two minutes to spare. Before walking in I said a prayer of thanks and asked again for a joy, so that I could be there for the children.
Just like life, He doesn't tend to answer in an expected way. As I walked into the room of children I slapped on a grin and prepared myself for the day ahead. Gradually my spirits lifted as the pains of the days melted and the brightness of the children's smiles and laughter healed my soul. In their happiness, frustration, insecuirity and contentment I felt for them and comforted or encouraged when I could. I had forgotten how wonderful it feels to receive a hug from a child. They are all so beautiful for their differences. For their innocence. Oh how I desire to return to my youth. Where a single day did not seem to last an eternity. Where adults were people whom I could trust. How I wish their innocence could brush upon me just as their joy did.