Some times

Its been a really long time since I have written a letter.  I have accepted this apparent failure to keep up with a letter a week and no longer judge myself for it.  To be honest, I faltered in this endeavor because the card I drew after my son's was for one of the Bombs in the deck and I couldn't do it.  I wasn't ready.  I didn't want resolution.  Sometimes the truth is mean and the tenderness of it is too raw to cover up with tact and niceties.  So, instead of just putting it back in and redrawing I stopped.  The whole point was to take the cards as they came and accept fate had a plan.  Well, I decided, eff fate.  I am in charge of my cans of worms and if I wanted to keep a lid on that shit till I was ready I would.  Took a few months to stew and fester further.  Decided that sometimes face to face combat is the only option.  Not everything is sweet tarts and roses.  A letter I would write to accompany this motivation, that will never be sent (but out to the anonymous world) is more like a limerick than a letter.  I am not a poet, I just love rhyme and rhythm:

Confrontation, conflict, avoidance, regression, 

passive nature, repression, passive aggression.  

Let time pass, blow over, fade.  

Just laugh and move forward, anxieties made.  

Whenever I see her I want to ask why she's such a bitch. 

This woman is causing a wound I must itch.  

Familiar by name but not by the soul. 

I think it is time to crawl out of my hole. 

Ask her to speak what she already shows.

Show her I mean it by withholding low blows. 

We may emerge much closer than now, 

but I suspect she will only prove she's a cow.  

Take swings at my character, 

pinch at my pride.  

There is nothing she hasn't already implied. 

So soon we will box, 

a sight it will be, 

though I already know

I will come out of this me.  

Maybe there will be a surprise up her sleeve.

A spark of humanity, 

capacity to bleed.

Perhaps its my head that is causing the scuff.

Maybe she's not actually really that tough.   

Paranoia waters the seeds of my worry.

I better resolve this, 

with stealth and with hurry, 

before it grows to uncontrollable rage.

Let me emerge from this, seasoned sage.

Grant's Letter

Grant

Grant is my son!  I am not sure how I am going to write this one, for him now as a four year old so he can appreciate it right away, or for him later, that he will keep and read as a man.  Hmm.

I got a little behind on this project, but I am back on schedule! My deadline for this letter is Friday, so I have a couple of days to think.

Manny and Carol's letter

Manny and Carol

So far my letter writing project is going very well!  I realized that there are only about 15 real bombs in the deck and that most of these letters I have been dying to write!  I actually let out a little squeal of happiness and relief when I drew this card.  Manny and Carol are relative strangers to me, at least they kind of were before the Christmas break when they came up to my town to visit my sister in law and her husband (Carol's brother).  By a perfect turn of events, I found myself finishing off a plate of leftovers at family leftover night, and sitting right next to Manny.  In conversation I brought up this theory I had about Right and Left brain activity and perhaps why I may be having trouble writing my feelings down (because I use my right hand to write, controlled by my left brain which is in charge of analytical thinking, not feelings therefore my masculine analytical brain is blocking the feelings from flowing out of my right hand, bla bla bla and on and on)  That was when I unleashed my idea for this 5ifty 2 project.

Manny listened quietly then (paraphrasing his words) said, "I am not sure about your theory about the right and left brain and its inability to write your feelings down in letters.  I know you said that maybe it would be easier for you type the letters then copy them down in pen, but when you type it just allows you to type as quickly as you think, recording brain babble instead of really saying what you want to say."

I said, "Well, isn't that good, Just typing as fast as you think? Plus typing on my blog all the time gives me the experience to really get things out."

Manny " Well, what are you writing about on your blog?"

Me "Just like, about what I am wearing and what I did that day."

Manny "What?  When are you going to get to the good stuff?  What do you really want to say?"

This conversation went on for a while and he gave me some encouragement and tips for my letter writing project and told me that it would be best if I stopped the charade and just told the truth on my blog.  In my own voice.  No editing and moving sentences around and all that bullshit, just speak.  When writing letters, he said "Think of those who wrote letters with quills and ink: dip the quill, write a phrase, pause, breath, dip, continue, phrase by phrase."

Tom's letter

Tom

Tom is my Father-in-Law,  my husband's dad,  my son's papa, and the only man I actually LOVE to argue with.  He loves it too I think.  We relish the opportunity! He sits and thinks of despicable things to say to me,  things that will push every possible button just to provoke and get a rise out of me.  I am not making this shit up!  He does this on purpose and tells me so!! The reason it's okay is because I know he wouldn't do it if he didn't love me.  I think he actually loves me more than he even knows he does.  That might be a bold statement, but I believe it to be true.  I think he would ignore my existence if he actually thought I should be a better wife to his son, a less lazy mother, a more beautiful thinner woman, a more productive house wife, a bit smarter, or more willing to have a gazillion babies, but I know he wouldn't trade me in for anyone else in the whole world!  And over the years he has taught me how to dish it right back at him.  I can hold my own, don't even worry about that!   One thing is for sure, HE LOVES my homemade buttermilk biscuits, AND that I am his daughter-in-law.

Deanna's letter

Deanna

The first card I drew from the deck is Deanna!  This is such a coincidence because I JUST saw her 3 days ago (the first time in months).  She drove all the way down from Washington to surprise me and my co workers.  She was one of my very first girls that I worked with at the Eating Disorder Clinic where I teach yoga and  do Art Therapy workshops.  I have though about her so much since she left, wondering how she was doing, if she still listened to the CDs I made her, if she was still doing yoga.  When she surprised me by her visit I started crying.  I wanted to write a letter to her to tell her how much it meant to me seeing her again.  Now I will. 

social loose ends

As far as new years resolutions go, I know what I am going to do.  I have a bunch of social loose ends.  Friends I have failed to communicate with, grandmas I need to update, people I failed to send Christmas cards to (everyone this year) Cousins who's weddings I missed, the list goes on and on.  And I painfully remember each person I have failed.  and it eats me up inside.  SO, 52 weeks in a year, 52 cards in a deck, 52 letters to write, BY HAND.  I am going to write the names of 52 people who need a letter on a playing card from a deck, shuffle the deck each week, and hand write and send that person a letter.  Trust me, this is something I have been NEEDING to do.  For some people for YEARS, maybe Decades.  There are probably more than 52 people even.  this is the hardest thing i have ever chosen for myself.  i just have to let go of the weight.