ab epistulis

I think all I can write are doozies....

2011-09-15T13:54:00.001-07:00

Dear Kate,

Wow. Here it is, 15 September, and I just went into our blog to discover a letter!! A few late, and I apologize for that. Unlike you, who gets the joy of sitting in front of a computer all day, I tend to shy away from my computer. Lately, it has become a box of homework assignments and emails I do not really like to read. Though it is no excuse for not keeping up, it is mine for now. I have a hard time looking on facebook or my email, even the school website, because I know there is something there needing some attention. I suppose I have to be in a right state of mind to open the computer these days and make it, and the assignments and correspondents the object of my attention.

So, to make brief updates: the fridge did not disappear as I had hoped on that particular day I wrote. Instead, I received a phone call from Washington state of all places, informing me that because of the tropical mess we had passing through, they were unable to pick up the fridge. But a new date was set, and I moved the beast to the living room in wait, and sure enough, the new appointment held fast and the fridge is gone...and I danced a jig to celebrate. In addition, I am still waiting on the approval of my proposal. It ties my stomach in knots not knowing, but a conversation with Diane has lit a bit of hope, so here I sit, still officially unemployed, but still hopeful.

My new semester has started, and it is a bit of a doozy. I met with an old friend the other night who commented that I had a new look upon my face. I claimed that I felt my head was in a cloud. He commented that the new “technology” term for the cloud was knowledge...a cloud of knowledge. I responded in this case, my head was swirling around in a thunder storm. It’s good stuff, but keeps my mind occupied.

I’m planning with all my might to make the beach next summer. Mom and I have talked about it numerous times. We’re thinking of renting a small condo for the two of us, as we are not sure if Mike and his Kate will be joining us. What I can say for this future excitement, is that when I get to be in the company of my “family” again, I will be on the backwards slide towards graduation. These next two semesters will be heavy with information, but by next summer, I will be interning again, and the course load is null and void. Basically seminar classes to discuss our experiences and plans as Social Work Counselors. So it will be a grand time. I sure hope you and J will be there, I look forward daily to that week.

I laughed out loud a few days (weeks?) back when Derek turned 25, and am flabbergasted to think of us all as grown ups now. I am glad to think that though we were not in close physical proximity, I still feel in a way that we have all grown up together. Family has taken on so many new meanings for me lately. With the rise and quick fall of potential relationships (which there have been VERY few), I still and comforted to know that, as Mike and I have always said, Family First. I am grateful for the closeness of our clan. And in saying that, I am confident that- going back to the adoption thought - if any of us ever adopted a child into the family, the Welch clan would accept that child as if he/she were biological. No questions asked. I know on the Ray side we have many children, but I know for me, that prospect is out of the question. So I am confident that, one day, when I am able to afford and be stable enough for a child, that child I open my home to will be as welcome as any other born to this family. I can’t express how awesome that makes me feel, and how proud I am to be a Welch.

As is my habit, I tend to ramble. I re-read my last letter and realized what a bucket load it was. But in my defense, there was much to say to catch up on our words gone astray for over a year! ha I am happy you are rediscovering your love for your music. My instruments are gathering dust these days, so perhaps you inspire me as well to tune that lovely dulcimer. Maybe tomorrow....

Take care cuz. And I’ll do better at checking our Ab Epistulis.

Love,

Roberta

PS....I loved your paragraph about the kid thing...It was a great look into your thoughts, free flowing in the letter. And no matter where the child comes from, it will always be your child. So be Narcissistic...it’s ok once and a while!

Phew!

2011-09-02T16:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Roberta,

Goodness! I am surprised you had a moment to write! I'm sorry that your job was "tailored out" (that's what we say at work), but the work you're doing with the organization for women and children is wonderful, and certainly needed. It seems like it will lead right into the kind of work you really would like to do, as well... So, good for humanity, and good for your career.

My parents are away in London right now (they don't like to mention their trips on Facebook, so you might not have heard about it). They're off on a two-week Baltic cruise in a few days, after they hang out in London for a bit. Every time they go on a trip, I worry, and I realize just how much my parents mean to me. They are my best friends and champions, and I feel like it took me far too long to really appreciate them, quirks and all. Losing one or both would leave me mute, somehow, because I tell them pretty much everything. Though I imagine a significant other would have been a great comfort to you this year, I'm glad you and your mom are talking and hanging out so much.

When my health/cat/job issues all coincided, I lost a lot of my optimism (I discovered, after meeting J's mother, that I'm an optimist), but I still felt that all of that stress had to be balanced by something good happening soon. The job security is good, and has brought back a lot of my optimism...

As far as kids go, I'm all mixed up, which I think is how people usually are. I was in a lot of pain, for a while, because of what my doctor has diagnosed as endometriosis, and when I told J that infertility was often a result of it, he said, "Well, then, we'll adopt, and those kids will be our family, and we'll never look back." Not that we were actually thinking of kids now... We agree with you, and intend to have whatever education we want out of the way before we move on to the "family" stage. Yet, when you're 25 (holy crap, when did that happen??? I typed 23 without realizing it was wrong, for a minute), you just assume that, whenever you want one, you can choose to have a baby. So, a doctor and the internet telling me that might not be true was quite a shock... as was my gut reaction, which was "Well, then, I don't want any at all, and I'd better figure out a fantastically successful career." See, I'd always thought that I wouldn't care if I couldn't have a biological kid... I guess I'm more of a narcissist than I thought.

I'm not sure where I was going with that. It's just what's been on my mind.

In the past few months, I have discovered that I truly love violin. I've been playing quite a lot, and teaching J how to play. I like to feel that I'm good at something, and (when nobody is watching), I'm very good at violin. I wish I could give lessons... but I was too much of a coward to study music in undergrad. Music students had to give solo recitals, you see...

Bart is, according to my father-in-law, settling in well to his new home. It's amazing how much you miss animals when they're gone... Every time I go to water my indoor plants, I miss that silly cat, because he always used to come running, hop up on the plant table, and try to drink the water from my pitcher (even though he had a motorized fountain with a filter). Someone offered me ANOTHER cat the other day, and I explained that I felt it would be a betrayal to Bartholomew to get a different cat when we couldn't even keep our first cat with us... They probably would have preferred a simple "No, thanks."

I'll sign off, for now. I have trouble sitting at computer screens for long, anymore, since all I do is stare at a screen all week. You inspire me to try to make my life useful... must start brainstorming this week.

Love,

Kate

Time IS on Our Side

2011-09-02T15:01:00.001-07:00

Dear Kate,

Dear Girl! It sounds like you yourself have been through hell and again, though it has been over a year since we have formally written. I know we corresponded since, but planes, trains and funerals I don’t think count. Life is transitional, and we have both transitioned quite a bit it seems since our last letter.

I am currently sitting here at my computer, high on wine and mold fumes from an old fridge that the folks at Gulf Power have agreed to take away tomorrow. In brief, I got a “new” fridge from an old friend here in town, and my old fridge has sat as a looming back drop to my dining room since July. I found out that rather than calling my local garbage disposal company and paying them to take the fridge away, at my own labor of getting the darn thing out to the street, I called the local power company who will come into my house and remove the beast AND pay me $35 so they can recycle the parts. I love friends who suffer the same consequences as myself, and can offer insight of how to best proceed with the removal of the darn thing. So tomorrow, excitement ensues as that fridge will finally be removed from my house with me the better of the deal.

Such is the kindness of well timing and networking through friends.

So Life. I “lost” my job at the church in early August. They, while I was on a trip with the kids, decided they needed a “Full Time” person to work with the youth. And I, stuck in a predicament working in Mobile, AL for an internship, and enrolled in school, was not what they envisioned. I think it dealt more with an undesired environment to work with me. I gave them a good 5 years of my time, and three months of a crazy work schedule was the fuel they needed to be gone with my personal position. Not to mention the days I took to deal with my family and dad’s departure of this world.

A note on that: life has been a whirlwind of depression, grief, and all other fragments in relation to that event. Mike, my brother, had his gal Kate present through all the dealings, and the life following. Me, on the other hand, have grown closer to mom with daily conversations, and a new dealing with progression without my dad physically there telling me of his pride and support of my education. I know I had written before of my frustrations of his enabling Mike in his hopscotch actions, but in his last months, he really was my Dad. And I miss hearing his voice, though through these tough times, I have heard him in my head saying “Just do the best we can,” and I try daily to do just that.

So Life: it’s been tough. But I can say today that things are finally looking up. I don’t have my job to hold me back. I miss it like crazy. But I do have the time now to do what I want to do, in my involvement in Breast Cancer Awareness (I’m knitting a bunch of Pink Scarves to raise money) to my involvement in GSSWO - Graduate Student Social Work Organization - volunteering my time as “secretary” to get the organization off it’s feet. Today, also, I submitted a formal proposal to my internship place of employment - Sybil Smith Family Village (more later) to promote my employment as a part time, temporary Child Advocate. Things finally are looking up.

A quick note about Sybil Smith -

It’s a transitional housing facility for women with histories of drug abuse or domestic violence in Mobile. It’s a place where women can regain their feet and have better futures for themselves and their children. Their children is where I come in. My classmate, and good friend, Mary, works there as the case manager for the women. She is the one who got me the paid internship for the summer. Now, they, the Village mothers, and the very small staff, miss my influence and impact on the kids. I told the director, Diane, that I could not afford the daily commute to Mobile (1 hr 13 min). But yesterday, I went in to talk to Diane about upping the notch with my kids. Basically, I offered to come in twice a week. Mondays to work group and fellowship sessions and Thursdays to work individual sessions. Today, I sent her a formal proposal which she will take to the “Big Boss” for approval. Basically, I (and Diane) are asking that the Exec. approve me for working the two days for about the same amount pay I received during my daily internship. Things are looking good for that.

So, in a nut shell: I have taken my student loans, the prospect of this job, and the numerous hours of volunteer I can now provide for the various organizations, and have made a living. It is meager at best, but I am thankful for the transition to the Social Work Counseling door this whole mess has opened for me. My fingers are crossed now that this will all work out for the future of my education and life.

Yes, Grad School gives purpose. And for me now, my purpose has been two fold: getting my education and credentials, all while allowing me to stay in my little home, and care for the only family I have close at hand: the two dogs and one cat.

So, enough about me...I’m sorry to hear about Bart, but know he’s in a happy home. I have considered the same path for ol’ itchy and stinky Smokie. But I am glad to hear of J. rediscovering his passion, and the two of you rekindling a flame you obviously have had for each other. As far as children are concerned, I understand the frustration of not being able to bear your own (as I am quickly aging out of that circuit), but I cannot stress the alternative enough that there are many, many children needing homes, and I hope you will never rule out the option of adoption or even fostering. But wait... You are still young enough to make the decision in a wise and well supported place in life. I have a classmate, who is actually a year or so younger than you, stressed about the child process. And I have given him the same advice I offer you: wait until J. (for him, himself) is a graduate, so children are not a distraction from the goal with which he (and J) are currently pursuing.

When you find yourself settled, the right decision will come. You are young...don’t let friends pregnancies influence your mind. The right time will come when you decide what best to do when children are concerned. And know, that no matter what, though we may be only cousins, I will still and always demand the Auntie status!

Much Love, and glad for our Correspondence,

Roberta

Feels like it's been five years in one

2011-08-26T10:19:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I'm afraid I've been a woefully neglectful cousin. In fact, I know I have. It's been a crazy/hellish year for me, yet I believe yours has been even more so. I keep wondering how you are, so I figured I should stop wondering and just write to you.

So, how are you? You're in school, right? And am I mistaken in thinking you have a new job? I'd like to hear about all of that.

Life here in wild ~~and wonderful~~ West Virginia has finally reached a state of equilibrium. Since this time last year, Jeremiah and I have been through a lot. He became increasingly moody as the school-year wore on, refused to go out to eat, to movies, to concerts, decided he would not eat sugar... and then he switched to the non-fiction program, made a friend or two, and is again the Jeremiah that I know. Meanwhile, I've loathed and loved my job, bought a lot of clothing, feared for my life on snowy roads, been rejected by WVU's PhD program, let go of my childhood home forever, learned my best friend is pregnant, learned I may not be able to ever be pregnant, and had to send my dear sweet cat to live in the country because of his peeing problem. We are, at least, out of that awful carpeted postage-stamp smelly apartment and into something nice. And Jeremiah and I know each other so much better now (though I thought that wasn't possible).

I forgot about the double budget crises, which made me fear for my job (which is now stable again). Good Lord, what a year. And I'm only 25!

So that's my life as it is now, in a nutshell. It's been a year of re-evaluating what is REALLY important to me and learning that I don't actually have a distinct purpose in life, and can't rely on ever having one GRAND purpose. Oh, what a luxury graduate school was!

Anyway, I hope you'll write back soon. I miss hearing from you.

Love,
Kate

a lament

2010-06-08T10:14:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

The other night, Sunday night, I was sitting in my back yard and for the first time, could smell the oil. Like a cancer in our gulf, this oil crisis has hit hard on my heart. Granted, the winds were from the south carrying the scent of the sheen, still ten miles away. Today, the wind is blowing from the north, pushing the mess into the Gulf Stream and again away from our coast. Yet, daily, “tar balls” wash on shore, leaving it littered with little brown globs. The beach looks like a very large pack of wild dogs were let loose on the sands to poop.

Another story, if you can bear with me:

Once upon a time, a young man went to England to study. He fell in love, but once his studies were over, he returned to the States, leaving his love behind. He eventually married. Over time, his wife became sick and he was left a widower. Perhaps influenced by loneliness, he sought out a love of his past, re connecting communication after years of separation. His love in England too had married, had started a family, and eventually too widowed. He traveled to England and brought his first love back to the States as his wife, her grown daughters remaining overseas. This story ended happily enough, until she too became sick. Rather than loosing in love twice, they chose to end in a Harry Crosby, Josephine Rotch fashion, ending their lives together with a bullet rather than suffer the pains of illness and loneliness.

These two were members of our church. Mixed emotions regarding their departure fly. And my heart is heavy when I think of them.

My dad is doing well, yet I hear in his voice a new weakness. I see in his emails a confusion of words from a once well written man. His mind can no longer read, nor really understand the strings of words he tries to read. I worry over his treatments. He has had a port installed, which is supposed to be a good thing, but still makes me squirm. He has restarted Radiation, and gets two hour doses of Chemo pumped in his port thingy every two weeks. I remember vividly his last bout with Chemo, and it was far from comforting. He has had his first Chemo dose, and as of this writing, no severe side affects, which is good. But like the oil in the gulf, it is not so much a matter of if, but when.

I feel like David when he cries out in the book of Psalms. Woe unto the depths of my heart!

The hand in hand feeling with these woes is that feeling of solitude. I feel isolated. I wonder why I have to be strong all the time. When can I be weak for just a moment and trust all will be ok? Whose hand can I hold as I stand up to face the storms in my life, the reassuring hand helping me remember that this too shall pass? Where is that someone whom I can trust will be there when it’s time to clean up from this mess?

I spoke to before about Capt’s bitch, bitch, bitch. Well, he still does. Bitches about work. Bitches about his teens, bitches about their mothers, bitches about his doctor. Then, when I cry out my woes, he listens, and claims them as his own. Let me ensure I am clear on this, he does not lift the burden from me or console (if you will), but rather, in a weird sense, steals them from me for his own personal pity party. I hear him, on the phone to his mother, to his brother, to his friends in Savannah, Arizona, Puerto Rico, to his friend’s mothers…you catch my drift…he is on the phone to anyone who will listen, “Woe is me for this family from my church” “Woe is me for the oil in the Gulf” “Woe is me for my girlfriend’s dad.” The man is ALWAYS on the phone (yet to me he claims he has no friends?), and always COMPLAINS!! I sometimes wonder if he breathes between sentences….

Ugh.

Still my guitar gently weeps.

This morning I woke to the capt telling me what great news it is that the Gulf Stream is pushing this oil away. But as one who sees the forest…I cannot rejoice. The damage is done. I am seeing the repercussions everywhere I turn, in the death of our wild life. In the loss to the jobs in Louisiana. To the shoring of our fishing boats. To the pending destruction in the Keys. To the far reaching tendrils of this cancer in the water. And what breaks my heart is that it was caused by man.

And my dad’s situation wears heavy on my heart for the opposite reason: his cancer was NOT caused by “man” (in terms of un-healthy habits).

Ma Cousine, I need a vacation. I have the dates. I leave here July 2^nd and do not have to be back until July 9^th. There are plans for my parents, and I am hoping that there are still plans for West Virginia. I would like to come see you and your new husband over 4^th of July weekend (me coming on Friday, leaving on Monday), if possible. Let me know. I promise I will not be a kill joy. Leaving the negativity of my relationship for a while will put that optimism back into my spirit. Plus, getting to be around family is always remedy for a sad, sad song!

A final tidbit, as my letter is really too long already… but to prove there is good in life:

I did apply for grad school. I am looking at starting a part time, Masters in Social Work program this fall. I dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s and now simply wait for that confirmation. A discussion with the head of the department put great confidence and reinforcement in my decision. So, we shall see.

All is well, ma cousine. Though I grumble, and the time is grey just the now, I know there are sunny skies. The oil spill is a disaster, but life must continue to push on, somehow. I just weep for those who cannot escape the blob. My prayers to the dolphins, sea turtles, fish, pelicans, herons, shell fish, humans and any other creature trapped by these globs of poisoned goo.

Paix,

Leigh

waxing introspective toward the end...sorry...

2010-05-11T19:34:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I'm writing to you from a slightly more stable place than last time. I interviewed for a job, which I think I can have if I want it. Sadly, it's part-time and would pay 1,000 per month without benefits, but when J and I are splitting 700 per month rent, that's enough to live on (though I plan to find other part-time work). The important thing to me is that the job seems interesting! Transcribing college lectures for the deaf and hard of hearing in real time (though I'd edit my transcription and send the students notes later).

Part of me thinks "wait and see if an actual teaching job comes along," but the rest of me realizes that I have more credit card debt than money in the bank right now, and my credit card debt is VERY low. I will go to the final interview in June, and I will probably take this job.

We've also found a place to live (if you hadn't figured that out from fb and my reference to rent) and have decided to move the weekend before beach week. It was a tough decision...that beach week could be time J could work more at his job in Blacksburg, but it's time with family that we won't get back... and money is just money. We can eat ramen and, if necessary, borrow from a bank or my parents (whose interest rate would be much lower). We plan to sell or pawn a lot, too.

So, in light of these plans, it would probably be best if you planned on stopping in Morgantown, WV for the 4th of July or sometime thereabouts. It is the same distance from St. Louis as Blacksburg, but I'm afraid it's a few hours further away from Pensacola. I'd understand if that kept you from wanting to stop by, but I'll be very excited if you decide to visit.

It's interesting... You mentioned in your last post that I have some optimism, and it reminded me of an old journal entry I read a day or so ago from the era of "woe-is-me-my-life-is-so-much-harder-than-anybody-else's." In that entry, I said that I had some sort of "indestructible optimism," because despite my depression I never despaired. I never thought that I wouldn't ever be happy on a daily basis or that life wouldn't be great (and, looking back, I realize that life was always great, excepting a few moments of pain). Jeremiah, too, has said that, even though I seemed to be into self-destructive behaviors when we first met, it also seemed to him that it was a front... I never went so far as to actually get in trouble, and despite my partying I maintained near perfection when it came to school. I'm so glad he liked who I was back then, anyway.

Not too long ago, I would have described myself as a pessismist, but I'm not. I have moments of pessimism, but at those times Jeremiah plays the role of the optimist (most of the time I play that role for him). I also found a quote that I stole from an old professor of mine: "nothing can complete you, because you weren't a half-person to begin with." I found it comforting at the time, and still do, though now my feeling of incompleteness stems from professional and not romantic desires.

A few months ago, Jeremiah would often come home moaning about how he hated his job. "so look for a new one," I said. He said "I can't work anywhere with a BA in Creative Writing." Well, I looked FOR him, and found plenty he was qualified for... Still, he never applied, and continued hating his job. Luckily he got over it and applied to graduate programs, but it frustrated me at the time... I don't understand settling. I'll take a job I don't like in order to pay the bills, but you can bet I'll be searching for something else every evening when I get off work. I was rather harsh, at the time, and told him I thought he must get something out of hating his job, otherwise he wouldn't ignore the job ads I sent his way. Interestingly, he agreed...but I still don't know what exactly it was that he got out of it. Some people are just that way, I guess. I hope the captain and Mike get out of their job-hating funks. Those funks are contagious... well, Jeremiah's was, anyway.

I hope you are enjoying yourself and staying oil-free. What messes we make of a perfectly good world.

Love,
Kate

Fireworks

2010-04-23T18:04:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

Life sounds exciting and a bit nerve wracking for you! Life is moving for you, slowly at times and at the speed of light the other times. I am very excited for your move. Though you have been in Blacksburg for many years, and it feels like home to you, it is good to spread your wings. Of course, this comes from someone who has lived in the same place for the past 10 years (20 if you count my time in Panama City). In my own defense, I did leave the part of town that was centered around the university to be closer to the heart of Pensacola, the place my own heart loves most about this little big town.

Yet, I often feel in that limbo…do I stay or do I move?

As I was walking around my yard the other day, I noticed the irises, which I planted two years ago, are finally blooming. My garden box is re-growing dormant perennials. The strawberries, which didn’t produce last year, are in abundance this year. After a very hard winter, I had to pull many of my plants out of the ground, dead from the cold. But I replaced them with sprouting trees which survived the winter in my sleeping garden box.

I truly felt at home. I often feel lost on my own mental adventure when I’m putting my hands in the dirt of my yard. The other day, the Capt was sick with a migraine. My hopes of going kayaking were partially dashed. Then I realized, I really didn’t need him to hold my hand to go for a paddle. So I tested my ability and shoved my little green kayak in my car – then did a quick jig because it fit perfectly. I went kayaking…by myself…and it was amazing. Again, I was lost in my own little mental adventure on the bayou.

I guess I have been trying to live the metaphor of making lemonade from the lemons (though I think I’d prefer margaritas from the key limes). I have really focused on my own personal change of attitude. And sadly, it has caused me to open my eyes in recognition of the capt’s sour attitude about everything in life. He complains ALL THE TIME!! I won’t digress on this, I’m not ready to delve into his topic today. What I will say is that I do understand we all have our gripes and needs of venting (and I am glad to offer an ear when frustrations need releasing); however, when the topic is constantly bitch, bitch, bitch, about work, work, work…well, it does get old.

At the same time, I understand your feelings about the frustrations with even finding a job. I know there is a terrible market out there. I also know we are of the same mentality, one which will find us dedicated to the task at hand, accepting anything with an income…at least until the better opportunity comes to focus. Folks like my brother will take the first thing across his plate, settle for the income, then complain about how much he hates his job. Reflecting on an earlier conversation with him, I asked why he wasn’t looking for something different. With the flow of excuses that poured from his mouth, I knew he was not out searching…he is of the type that wants the good life to fall in his lap. I think the capt is like this also…the good life has got to nip you in the bud before you realize it was there the whole time.

I’m sorry you are struggling to find a job. But I believe you to have a source of optimism tucked away. I may be completely off, but I don’t think I am. I think J. has helped you open your little treasure cache of good will. I saw it in your last letter. I saw it when we were all last together in North Carolina. And I look forward to seeing it this summer. As for my little relationship…I care very much for the capt, and hope my enthusiasm for life and it’s small daily adventures will soothe his corrupted little heart! (sarcasm…)

So, as for me…I have taken the bull by the horns, so to speak. I want travel back in my life, and will seek any opportunity with or without the capt. We are both truly fine with this, I would hope for him to jump on adventure regardless of my availability. I pray that at times our comings and goings will coincide, and when they don’t, as I said earlier, I don’t need him to hold my hand (though it is a nice additive).

I’m going on a road trip. My two main areas of visit include the newly weds and my parents. My window of opportunity is the 28^th of June through the 7^th ish of July. I would love to help you and J in your move, and I would love to spend an old fashioned Fourth of July either is some small West Virginia town, or along the banks of the Mississippi River. I don’t know why I love fireworks, I hate the noise of them…but I love good ol’ Fourth of July festivities.

So I leave it with this: I am flexible with my car. I can visit mom and dad first, then come your way for the Fouth, or vise versa. Let me know when I would be of most help and of least burden to you.

Paix, ma Cousine!

Leigh

update

2010-04-21T12:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I was going to text you to let you know that I had posted over the weekend, but then we got some news that made at least part of my previous post obsolete. A testament to how uncertain the details of my next year were a few days ago.

As I mentioned in my previous note, J was accepted to WVU but hadn't heard about funding. Well, he's heard now, and we're headed to Morgantown in a couple of months. The next big adventure. I'm excited but, at the same time, worried that I won't find my place there. I'm so used to Blacksburg now! Adjusting to a new town can't be that hard... and my family will, at least, be a bit closer (some of them). My parents will be a mere 3 hours away, my grandmother 2, and my friend Laura 8 (instead of the 10 1/2 she is now).

Now I need a job, and a good one, because now I will need to be the breadwinner while J is the struggling graduate student. I've applied to over 15 jobs already, but I know it usually takes at least twice that number of applications before you get a nibble. Not sure the jobs are even out there, but I will make myself annoying to the places that ARE hiring.

Anyway, that's the update. Still read my previous letter, since it responds to yours.

Love,

Kate

Adventure

2010-04-15T19:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I'm sorry your adventures have been foiled. If that camping trip doesn't take shape, you should take matters into your own hands and just DO something. Maybe the Captain will come along if he knows you're going no matter what.

Personally, I'm adventured out. Our wedding was just about perfect. I wish your family could have made it, but I'm happier knowing that your Dad didn't put himself through extra stress by traveling so far and that you were together as a family when you needed to be.

Back to the wedding, though... It reawakened whatever piety I possess and confirmed my belief that if you act as though something will go right, it will go right (and if it doesn't, at least you won't be so stressed along the way). There were many opportunities for the day to fall apart (in minor ways), yet it never did. Our B&B was disappointing for how much it cost, but we didn't really care. In fact, we'll probably go back again, just for sentimentality's sake. The water smelled like eggs, the floors were freezing, Jeremiah got champagne all over the kitchen, breakfast was kind of gross, and there was a compost bin under the sink...but it all is dear to me.

Our "honeymoon"...well, if I could take a mulligan, I would. I should've known Jeremiah wouldn't really take to cruising (though he loved dinners) and that going places I'd already been would lead to disappointment. They're not quite so magical when you're older and used to being in charge of how you get where you want to go. We had fun, nonetheless, and Jeremiah still wants to travel (thank goodness)...just to less tourist-centered places, perhaps. He mentioned an alaskan cruise...

So that brings me to the adventures of everyday life, which are many. We currently do not know for sure where we'll be next year (we might find out tomorrow), do not know whether I'll be able to find employment this summer, whether we'll be able to go to the beach... Jeremiah got into WVU's MFA program, but they haven't guaranteed him funding. They also haven't denied it. He's supposed to find out tomorrow where he is on the list of those being considered for funding...

I've applied for nearly 15 jobs already, and have investigated several more. My goal is 4 per week. I can get on the sub list for Floyd county schools but have yet to find opportunities in West Virginia... Our lease runs out July 1st, and I don't know if we'll be moving the week before or sooner or what. If we move, we'll need a new place to live, but I can't line that up when I don't know which town to look in... If we're moving to Morgantown I might just collect unemployment until I find a job there rather than begging someone to hire me for two months around here. I'll be able to pack up our stuff, at least.

Annnnd I defend on May 5th, graduate May 8th...

I'm ready for it all to be settled, and I'm frustrated that the schools I've applied to teach at haven't called me back. People HERE think I'm special...my capstone project has been nominated for a Chermside Award and I've been asked to read at graduation...but to other places I'm just another boring resume. I've called to follow-up on applications and the people who answer act as though I'm doing something completely inappropriate by calling with questions...

Every now and then I think "man, wouldn't it be nice if I could just move back home while I look for a job somewhere...eat my parents' food, live rent-free..." But I know I wouldn't be happy with that. Also, I've taken the adult step of marrying Jeremiah, so wherever I go he goes, and I would not take him to live with my parents. We should be able to make it on our own.

My philosophy right now is the same one I had approaching our wedding: believe it'll all work out. It keeps me from losing my mind. Can't wait until this particular bit of adventure is over, though...

On a completely different note: tomorrow is April 16th, and I have no idea what to do with myself. It's kind of disturbing how little I feel, considering how much I felt then. To go to campus or to not go to campus? To recognize the day or to sit inside and play videogames all afternoon? I've found a balance, I think...I'm heading to campus in the morning and leaving as soon as the insensitive younger folks make me angry enough. Then I'm having lunch with a friend of mine, who is the last remaining person here (apart from Andrew) who was actually with me on that day. Weirdly, I didn't know Jeremiah at all, yet... That's what I've been thinking of most, tonight: how much the landscape of my life has changed since then. That and how much I wish the underclassmen would disappear tomorrow so that we who were here can wander our campus in peace.

Anyway, I'll close for now. I could go on and on.

Love,

Kate

Time

2010-04-13T09:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

It’s been a while. And of course, it is on my side. I am terrible at keeping up our posts. Even my own postings have been neglected for over a year. I was visiting my old site the other day, reminiscing and balking at the elapsed time. Not only between my own personal writing, but also the time between our correspondence.

Much has happened in that time; for you most mentionable. A thousand Congratulations for you and J. I am anxious to hear how you are enjoying life as the lady of the apartment, and how J has adapted to your routines. I want to hear a tale or two of wedding day moments and cruise memories. I find myself jealous at times for the thought of your great adventure.

I am in need of an adventure just now. Since our last posting, I have missed THREE chances at vacation. Once, over Christmas, Capt and I were supposed to go to Jackson, MS to visit with his family. Christmas’s in Jackson are so simple and fun. His dad plays the guitar while his mom orchestrates silly games for gifts of candy bars and $5 bills. The two nephews are there, two fun and wonderful boys. The youngest and I tend to get into mischief …teasing the Capt. or playing cards or plotting silly pranks. Fun times.

Then of course, when mom and dad were down for the month of January, I felt as if the whole month just melted away. There was not much time for going out and playing or bike riding because of dad’s strength. Plus, his trip to the hospital kept us from coming to your wedding. I am thankful for your grace in the matter. I had though of just going on my own, but luckily I didn’t, as dad would have been admitted while I was away. Funny how things work out sometimes.

Finally, I was supposed to see Eric Clapton in New Orleans. My birthday tradition, and only real wish, is to spend a day in the Big Easy. It’s just such an amazing place of art, music, culture, and FOOD!!! Plus, you throw in a couple of tickets to one of the greatest guitarists (in my humble opinion) and WOW! What a trip. Yet, the Thursday before departure, I found myself with the worst kind of stomach bug that did not ease until Sunday.

I feel so cheated.

I don’t look for much in adventure. A simple day trip here or there, or an overnight in a different setting is all I ask to tide me over until a mega, week long excursion gets placed in the books. An escape from reality is a wonderful thing. I have been looking to the Capt for that adventure, but for some reason, we are lacking in our communication skills. I feel him placing too much a priority on his work to make a simple get away. I would have thought we had occasional free days from work. Yet, currently, we are just at odds. We both need a trip. I know I told you I’d be planning a trip up to Virginia. I have plotted several trips that direction, complete with a side stay in Savannah to visit Capt’s friends. But again, we are just at odds. One minute he is on board with travel, the next finds him unwilling to take the time away from his job.

He has suggested a camping trip for the end of this month. He claims to be in need of a vacation. I have been in need of an adventure for much longer. So, I plan to sit tight and wait. If he does not follow through with this trip, or for another reason I get cheated (gosh, sounds like the world revolves around me!)… anyway, if this trip fall through the giant cracks in life, I will be taking this journeying life by the horns and road trip away by my self.

So perhaps you should expect to see me in July!

Paix ma cousine,

Leigh

I lack useful advice

2009-12-29T11:03:00.000-08:00

Dear Leigh,

Sorry I didn't respond sooner. Lost my mind for a little while at the end of the semester, but most of it's returned to me now.

I remember you telling me about your dream of owning your own cafe a few years ago when I visited you on the great road-trip of 07. I'd never dream of driving so far on my own now, though I'm glad I made the trip then. Somehow I've become more cautious in the past two years. I think it has something to do with J. It's as though, before I met him, I flailed around asking to be hurt then pitied myself when I was. So selfish. So stupid.

Anyway, what I admired about you then and still admire about you today is your independence. I thought I was being independent by driving hundreds of miles on my own and going out drinking every weekend with my friends and eschewing healthy relationships in favor of non-relationships and applying to a prestigious school I couldn't afford in Boston, but my parents still gave me money every month and I rarely did anything outside of what my friends suggested we do. Jeremiah still has a hard time getting me to say what I want, actually. You, however, had established your own life and had very specific aspirations...

I have a point somewhere. I think it's that you seem to have a real sense of yourself, whereas I've only recently acquired mine (and I'm still fine-tuning it...probably will be until I die). It would be a shame for somebody like you to continue feeling that they're not living life but giving in to it. Then again, it's very easy to say "if you like cooking, then cook!" but very hard to actually do something like that. It's daunting, once you're in a particular path, to even consider leaving it completely. The logistics are nightmarish... Still, I hope that you find a way to do what you love for a living. Maybe research culinary schools in the area and see what kind of classes and funding are available? Or maybe a move would do the trick.

I don't really know. Jeremiah's worried about the same kind of thing. He fears that he won't get into an MFA program and will be stuck in food service. I've pointed out that he's perfectly qualified for freelancing and that freelancing can lead to full time jobs, but it comes back to that rut and the difficulty of breaking out of it. I'm optimistic that both of you can find a bit of adventure, but I don't envy you the task.

Luckily, both you and Jeremiah have supportive significant others to encourage you.

I think I’ve Become Obsessed with Food

2009-12-03T12:39:00.000-08:00

Not eating, but creating.

Dear Kate,

I find it hard to get anything done when ambition levels are at an all time low. I laugh at myself and my bursts of inspiring words offered to you when in reality you were not lacking in self esteem. Life truly seems to be going quite well in Virginia, and I am both happy and excited for you! However, I may need to go back and reread some of my own moral boosts for personal reasons.

How about a story to get this letter going:

In the early 70's, my mom traveled from Maine to New Orleans to California and back to Maine (yes, I gave NOLA its own state identification) carrying nothing more than a backpack and equipped with only her thumb. When she returned to Maine, her travelling days were not complete. Instead, she found a job working in an officer’s club on the local air force base. I believe she worked there with one purpose in mind: to meet herself a nice military officer with adventure on his plate. And it worked. A few years later and a young family in tow, the adventures continued to places like Germany, Saudi Arabia, Virginia, and all the great sights surrounding those locations.

So how did I, an offspring of two great travelers, get stuck. I have been in the same place (Northwest Florida) for the past 20 years. Yes, you read right, we moved to Panama City in 1989. The furthest adventure I made from this place was the family cruse a few years back.

There is point here somewhere: I am just not quite sure if I can make it sharp…

Growing up, I always felt like it was expected of me to marry that nice military man and continue my own travels. I felt like, as my young life progressed through high school, there was no real direction for my future. College was an afterthought. My education goals non-existent. I do not feel I had much support. For many reasons, I feel like I missed out on something great. I do have quite a few wonderful memories in this life thus far, but I do not feel I have been able to live up to the potential of what I have to offer. Put simply, I often feel like I’m succumbing to life rather than LIVING it.

I am really burned out in my job. I never pictured myself as a youth director. There are days I love it. More and more, there are days, like today, I loathe it. Last week was a wonderful week: I was sick. I got to stay home the entire week and not deal with the monotony of planning activities which the kids will resist. I feel the only way I can make them happy is by feeding them or numbing them with a movie. And I hate those feelings. I hate thinking that my kids are so unappreciative of what I have to offer. They come here, to this church, seeking what? I don’t know anymore. It can’t be the program I’m running. They prefer to distract and make a game of who can get the best reaction from rude innuendos, jumping all over the couches like a room full of monkeys (only real monkeys are much better behaved). Well, perhaps I am too harsh. The bottom line is, life is just no fun anymore.

Thus my obsession with food. Sometimes I think my calling may have come too late. I love food. I love reading menus, planning flavors, experimenting with meals. I am not that big on the eating part, but I love the preparing and serving part. I love to learn and experiment. There is a Vegan restaurant in town, and I LOVE the place. I want to live there! Well, not really. But I did find inspiration in this little beatnik café. I went to the bookstore the other day and found myself a new Vegan cookbook so I too could experiment with a different food style with which I can somewhat relate.

A last grumble, then I will complete this letter: Capt has a friend with a restaurant on Tybee Island. I have been begging Capt for a relocation! I love Pensacola, but this town has grown quite small. A few weeks ago we went to Gallery Night, basically a downtown street party. And if I did not run into a major handful of people from work! Most may not think it so bad, but I HATE running into people from work. I feel like a hypocrite when I am trying to live a life according to me…not one defined by expectations imposed by my employment!

I know what I want to do with my life. Food is my adventure. I want to travel the human palate with my own café. I want to create comfort foods for others to eat. I want to experiment with new flavors, creating a table of savory, sweet, tart, tangy, spicy, all satisfying to the taste buds. But how does one jump out of this rut, this binding of debt and house payments to make the necessary move away from the familiar to the possibly more satisfying unfamiliar?

Paix, ma cousine.

Leigh

PS. Ideas for a J gift are requested from my brother… if you please.

the lining is quite silver.

2009-10-08T22:15:00.000-07:00

My dear cousin:

I find myself reassuring family members of my happiness multiple times today. My next facebook status will go through several stages of review before being published...

Every now and then--and particularly in very busy weeks--the world seems much bigger than usual and I give in to despair for a few moments, convincing myself that it's entirely TOO big and crowded for me (and J) to wiggle in. Last night (two nights ago, now), during one of these moments, I posted my facebook status, and the rest is history. It's all symptomatic of a bit of leftover child in me, a child who says "I don't WANNA!" when made to take out the garbage or clean their room. My adult side recognizes that struggle and uncertainty are just a part of life, particularly young-20s life, but that kid would like it all to just come easily.

Most of the time, however, I feel up to the struggle and vivified by the uncertainty. Questions like "where are we going to be next year?" and "what kind of job will I have?" excite me. Life in general is good; I enjoy my students immensely, even when they're exasperating, and I'm excited about my capstone project (when I have the time to work on it). J and I are getting married in January, my parents offered to send us on a honeymoon as a wedding gift (even though they're paying for the wedding...this feels excessive to me, but I won't complain), and now that he's off salary-schedule I even get to see him some of the time.

All of this made me decide to keep on going...to continue doing what I enjoy and seem to be good at, because when I'm enjoying my work, I don't care so much that I get paid so little. So, with encouragement from J, I decided to apply to PhD programs at the schools he's applying to for his MFA. I could try to do the safe thing and find a job, but chances are I won't find one even remotely related to what I've been studying or one that pays much more than a graduate student stipend anyway...

I guess the child in me came out after this decision (which I made Monday), because I'm choosing to do what I like and am good at, and this means that I'm choosing to struggle. It's intimidating...and I admit I got a little angry that what I like and am good at isn't valued enough in the US today for me to even be guaranteed a good job on the other side of a PhD. I want everything! A cushy job that I like that gives me the flexibility to have a family, a spot for J at a school he feels comfortable at...

Two weeks ago (I swear this is related), I went to a conference at UNC Greensboro to present a paper I wrote last Fall. Four of my classmates went along; two of these were on the same panel as me. The conference ended up being a bust. There were maybe 30 people there, none with papers that interested me, and because our panel was at the end of the day, nobody came. That's right, NOBODY showed up. Not even the two classmates who presented at separate panels. So, my panel-mates and I read our papers to each other (something we could have done back home at VT), and drove three hours through pouring rain back to Blacksburg. The whole experience discouraged me at the time, but there is one thing that one professor said during a plenary session that WAS worth driving three hours to hear. This young professor advised us all to do what we like. Generally, she said, if you write about what you're interested in and do what you're good at rather than what makes you money at the time, you'll end up in a place meant for you. Your unique experiences won't let you end up anywhere else OTHER than that place.

I've learned over the years to trust the advice of people who've lived longer than I have, and, as I'm taking this woman's advice, I certainly hope she's right.

Anyhoo...I guess what I was getting at with all of that is: I'm quite happy. My lining is very silver...gold, even. The doubts just sometimes creep in, as is their wont, and I have trouble ignoring them every time...especially in the wee hours of the morning when I'm alone in the apartment and J is at work.

Love,
Kate

"a letter to one's beloved [cousin] ought not to be kept back for any dimness of thought or feebleness of expression...

2009-10-08T11:35:00.001-07:00

... any more than a prayer should be stifled in the soul, because the tongue of man cannot breathe it eloquently to the Deity.”

My apologies to Hawthorne.

As I walked through past posts on your blog and read over thoughts on your “facebook status,” I realize what a terrible cousin I have been. I realize, and fully take the blame, that this deep mood of melancholy your writing exposes is all because you have not received a letter from your beloved cousin! And I am ashamed to say I have not written my beloved cousin because I have not felt my own feeble ideas were worth sharing. The reality is: I have written you three times, and after looking back, have decided that my letters were all petty and worthless.

Today I came across this quote on your blog, and was slapped a bit…the way one slaps a screaming idiot to calm the senses. To put in less abusive wording: you and I write, not for judgment of the other’s ideas, but rather to simply share and communicate. And I have not been good to my side of the conversation. So neglectful I have been, that questions drawn in your past letter are now obsolete and I feel terrible for not having offered an opinion. So I give you one anyway: you asked for ideas, possibly revolving around “contemporary compositions” – with attention to graphic novels. This flew out to me. My favorite set of graphic novels is Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis series. I’m not an avid reader of graphic novels, but the other day I looked over the shoulders of my teenagers to see what they are reading these days, and I saw mostly pictures with words in balloons. And these were no comic books, they were well written stories. I have one youth whose hobby it is to write stories set to the images he draws. It is so fascinating to see his sketch books, full of sequential squares, filled with dialogue and plot. I do not know how this random info could be helpful to you, but my eyes have opened to the popularity of graphic novels. I was equally fascinated by the fact that Persepolis had been made into a movie… and we are not talking the over production or over commercialization of Batman, Superman, and other Marvel Comics superheroes on the big screen. Persepolis looks to be like a “cartoonized” foreign film: classic and unique.

Enough of that.

I’m going to slip back to worry and address concerns brought up in other facets outside our Ab Epistulis writings. Your last letter was “annoyingly happy,” yet now, you seem quite the opposite. More the worry-er than the happy-er. What’s going on?

In one venue I see a frustration with your education tract and the possibility that your entire future is now ruined because you did not do something quite right…

Well, today is your lucky day! Because I am here to tell you I screwed up too. I got a psychology degree…complete with no ambition to continue on in that field. I am a happy person stuck in a rut. I do have a good life with a good man. A trait I hope I still share with you. I still struggle daily to achieve my dreams of adventure, yet I am content with patience. I know I suffer a disease of over patience which tends to prevent me from moving out of my rut. I often sit and complain and think, oh well, someday it will all get better, I just have to keep plugging along.

So this leaves me with contradictory thoughts for you…I am so sure they will help…ha...ha...ha

Life is what you make of it. I hate to shove down Betty Homemaker tid bits like “Enjoy the Small Stuff” but really, that is about as best as we can do sometimes. <-- Note the sometimes... settling is never a good thing. Yet, if we look too far into the big picture, we can easily get bogged down. We really do have to take life one day at a time, setting achievable goals and realizing that often we need to redefine those goals as life seems fit. If not for Katrina's influence, Stephen may never have found himself in Pensacola working for a snobby yacht club. He confided he would never work for that particular venue again… He was well on his way working for a community sailing center, open to those in need of a recreational activity that would not cost half their income. Yet years after Katrina he still needed work, and the club was calling. This is all from a guy with a Journalism degree, who decided after graduation that a captain’s license might get him a bit further in life…at least towards the water where his heart is happiest.

Life is never easy. There are no silver platters, unless you are a Kennedy. We all struggle…I struggle, you will struggle. If we let ourselves be overcome by burdens, then life is no fun. My best friend goes out and buys, buys, buys. Her husband makes enough for her to work as a beer cart girl three days a week at the local golf course. The other four days, where people like you and I are struggling to make some form of living, she’s out shopping or playing Beatles Rock Band. I realize, and have to keep reminding myself, that she and I are two different people. I would not be happy in her life. I have to define my life for me, and make myself as happy as possible with what life has given me. I’m not going to turn out like my mom and dad, I’m not going to be like my really smart [beloved] cousin, I’m not going to turn out like my friend…because I am me. And what will make me happy today is a million dollars – enough to get out of debt, buy a nice house on some great property, go sailing around the world, open an animal rescue shelter, have a really big garden...

Reality is, today I make very mediocre wages. I am still paying creditors twice as much as I borrowed. I barely own my own home…which technically I will not own for another 35 years. I have a happy family of dogs who love to walk with me every morning. I enjoy reading books to escape this reality for a while. I love to listen to music, to write, to kayak, to bike, to explore. Simple things to keep my sanity. I am burned out in my work, but I find ways to rejuvenate and keep on going. Capt and I get frustrated with one another, but we find ways to talk and rejuvenate our relationship.

I truly hope you are well, ma cousine. We really do have silver linings in our lives. Don’t make me come up there to help you find yours!

beaucoup d'amour,

Leigh

annoyingly happy

2009-07-09T20:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh:

Your post made me feel a lot more at peace with the relationship I have with my family and the physical distance between us. You're right; patience is really the way to handle it (though I'm not sure I'd have the patience required for Mike) and actively keeping up the relationship I have with my parents is the best I can do. No sense worrying about the dynamics--they are what they are.

I'm really sorry to hear about your shingles. At least you get a week off of work, right? Though I'm sure you'd prefer a healthy week at work to a week at home in pain. All I can say is make sure you let yourself rest. A few years ago I decided to "work through" a cold, and I ended up having that cold for over a month.

Now I will talk about myself, something I fear I will be doing entirely too much over the next 5-6 months. Jeremiah and I plan to get married in December, and I'm already boring myself when I listen to the conversations I'm having with my mother about it. Not that I'm not excited--I am--but I remember how sick I got of hearing my roommate talk about plans, and I imagine that in less than a week I've become that girl that won't shut up about her wedding.

Even so, I'm going to continue talking about myself. I'm very sorry. But I just had one of the best experiences of my life in terms of fatherly pride and approval (which is what I strove for growing up and still not-so-secretly want), and I must share:

Recently, (for the past year) my parents have been having issues with their house. The main sewage line had to be replaced, resulting in a huge ditch through the front yard and dirt all over our cul-de-sac for several weeks; the basement flooded, ruining precious belongings like books and baby clothes; the basement stayed wet due to the disturbed ground of the front yard and they had to call in people to dig it up and install sump-pumps; and now the roof has to be replaced.

So my dad's talking to me tonight, and he says "you know, I think your phone call on Tuesday was like the culmination of our luck turning around. On Monday, the electrician came to put the plugs in for the sump pump, which cost us more than we expected. Monday night, I came home and your mom had a long face--the air conditioner wasn't working. Well, Tuesday we called the electrician back in, thinking he must have hit something while he was working, and sure enough he sheepishly pointed out a little switch that he accidentally tricked, flipped it back, and the AC came on. Then, the roof contractors came and gave us an estimate much lower than we expected, and then YOU call to tell us you're getting married!" His voice, at this point, was filled with more joy than I've ever heard in it. "What I'm trying to say is: we're just so happy. We're so happy for you."

It's the sappiest I've ever heard my dad get, and I realized then that whether we can sit around and chat like old friends doesn't have anything to do with the depth of our relationship. Not with my dad...I don't think he'd WANT to sit around with me and talk about clothes or my friends or J.

So I'm no longer lamenting the fact that I don't talk with my dad like I do with my mom. The way we relate is just different...each of us is, I think, eager to see the other happy. We just don't go on and on about it.

Now time to return to the work world. My syllabus is due in a couple weeks and I am stumped...any suggestions for a fun composition topic to cover in the last couple weeks of class? I'm trying to do "contemporary composition" and talk about blogs and graphic novels and funky websites as new ways of expressing with writing, but it's really hard to make it all flow.

I hope you are feeling much better. Write soon.

Froehlichkeit und gesundheit (happiness and health) meine Kusine (I thought I'd try out my foreign language--it doesn't sound as pretty as your French, though).

Kate

Shingles

2009-07-07T17:29:00.000-07:00

I have bad case of Shingles. What does this mean? It means I am $200 poorer from anti-viral medication. It means I am missing a week from work on sick leave. It means I am fatigued and have severe pain on my left shoulder. I feel as if I have cracked my collar bone, as if I have pulled a major supporting muscle on my left shoulder. It has progressed into my hairline along the back of my neck. I feel as if I have paid an untrained acupuncturist to poke around my neck muscles to sooth the pain of an uppercut jab to my left jaw bone. The number one cause for Shingles: Stress. Onset date for this “rash”: Tuesday following beach week.

Before I go further, let me emphasize that I love my family very much. I do not blame beach week stresses on my current condition. My family means the world to me. And yes, like you, I do wish I lived closer, or in older times when families lived “a carriage-ride away.” A friend once said that family should always be close at hand, but far enough away that you would have to put on a hat to visit. I wish my family were close enough for that Sunday afternoon visit, where the kids would all gather at the folk’s house for Sunday lunch or dinner. But, like you and I and our other cousins, aunts and uncles, my family is spread thin. To this day, I do not even know where my brother is resting his head, and I am fine not knowing.

I did not even say good bye to my brother when leaving beach week. His little attitude and weenie fit on our last day was the straw that broke this camel’s back. He put my whole family in “dancing on eggshells” patrol. He had made a big deal about wanting to do something unified on our last day, yet gave only snips and snaps when we tried to get an answer from him regarding what activity sparked his interest. He eventually locked himself in his room refusing to answer to anyone, calling us all stupid because he was supposedly only wanting to watch a movie! The end result was him blaming me for ruining the vacation because I had some “I’m not putting up with your bullshit” words thrown his direction.

I know I do not have to tell you about the huge dividing line in my family, with my dad and brother on one side, and my mom and I on the other. It is a major struggle for my mom, who tries to juggle her nurture towards me, my dad, and Mike. She sees the way dad greatly favors Mike, and I see the way it pains her to have her little family so divided. That is why, regardless the situation, there is undue amounts of stress in my nook of the family. Sometimes I blame distance on our family tension. Sometimes I blame my little brother for his refusal to settle (he KNOWS what he needs to do, but blatantly REFUSES). Sometimes I blame my dad for enabling (he buys the boy out of so many debts for crying out loud). Sometimes I blame my mom for trying to make peace when peace cannot be made. Sometimes I blame the death of my older brother. But most of all, I blame the distance. It is hard to be 12 hours away from my folks. I suppose since I have been this far for over ten years, I no longer realize that my annual family visits seem only to need the digits of one hand to count.

Distance is a struggle, especially in my relationship with my dad. But my mom and I communicate. We talk like old friends often throughout the week. When we do get to visit face to face, that time is not wasted on “catching-up” but rather relishing in continued conversation, in person. We have a wonderful time: playing cribbage, sitting in the yard, drinking wine, laughing, grumbling, confessing, talking. During beach week, when Mike hid himself away in his own private pity party, my mom and I decided to embrace the remainder of the day and venture to the lighthouse. Just the two of us…it was a wonderful time of bonding. It was a moment that reinforced the fact that we really do enjoy each others company.

Yet with my dad, we seem more on a mission to pass simple pleasantries, then move along in our own private worlds.

How do I cope? I mourn silently when I see my family go its different directions. But I resolve to keep in contact, especially with my mom, so when we are reunited we can continue where we left off without the need to “catch-up.” Family dynamics are hard, especially in today’s world where relatives are spread so thin. But thankfully with our technologies (a mixed blessing for sure) connections can be easily made and sustained.

Give it time. This hurdle you jump is temporary. You will find your niche in life and will work your family relationship into that nook. You have your mind set even now to instill this familial connection upon your “children,” the idea alone will spark the reality. Do not over look tomorrow’s blessings by burying yourself in yesterday’s regrets. Use life’s experiences and “wish I had’s” to spark growth. And play the patience card. I have been for quite sometime. When I stop and look back, I see the distances I have crossed and am happy where I stand...even if I have a few speckles to suffer every now and again. It does take time; you are young enough to take advantage of that time.

Hope this was more helpful rather than another installment of Leigh’s Soap-Box…

Namaste, ma cousine,

Leigh

thoughts provoked by a week with family

2009-07-01T14:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I hope you made it safely home from the beach. It was good to see you in person, though I always wish I had just a little bit more time to spend with the family. Sometimes I fantasize about living in the olden days, when everything was just a carriage-ride away.

When I was out kayaking with my mom, I realized...again...how much she is my best friend but also how much visiting with her and my dad feels like visiting. It used to be very easy, but now I feel compelled to "catch up" and be very thoughtful and polite every time I see them, almost as though they are strangers. We talked about where my brother and I might end up in the next few years while we paddled, and my mom mentioned the possibility of moving out of the house I grew up in. Immediately, I felt as though I ought to be upset. In reality, I didn't mind the idea. That house hasn't felt like home since my old cat died, and, in fact, more than feeling upset that my childhood home might no longer be available to me, I was excited at the idea of my parents living closer to where me and Jeremiah and my brother are.

See, I loved Grammie and Grandpa, but I didn't know them, and they didn't really know me. We visited maybe a handful of times per year. I've decided, partly because of my kayaking realization and partly because of the way my dad seemed hesitant to join in playing music (which he loves to do in groups and especially with me), that I want it to be different for my [theoretical] children and for me, as well. It made me sad that my dad felt like he was forcing himself into mine and Jeremiah's world by joining us with his fiddle, and it made me sad to think that I wouldn't be able to have an in-person chat with my mom for another few weeks, at least, and only that soon because it's summer. I don't want them to be a once-in-a-blue-moon part of my life, though I don't necessarily want a return to the involvement of childhood. It'd just be nice to continue to know them well, to visit easily, and to have my [theoretical] kids know them well enough not to feel shy whenever we visit, as I usually felt visiting Hampton and still feel visiting my Grandma in Pennsylvania.

And that's what I came away with from the beach trip, in addition to good memories and some awesome sunburns. How do you cope with living so far from your parents? I wonder if I'm hoping for something most people don't think of...maybe this is just my way of reacting to a tough first year as a self-reliant adult.

Write soon.

Love,
Kate

A Short Note as I am Moved to Respond

2009-04-16T07:53:00.001-07:00

Dear Kate,

I worried as I published my letter that it would induce the knee-jerking defensiveness so common in all human nature. But you are wise to let that instinct ease as you thought through your response.
I agree with you in your image of the coral. Capt and I truly feel our paths, though originally going different directions, have merged. And I do agree with the fact of life where often we make the choice to sacrifice one good thing for another. Decisions are difficult to make, especially when our dreams cannot become reality (your education in Boston to my opening a cafe for example). But we find the next best path. Or an alternative may find us postponing one dream's reality for another. Today, I dream of the day I can leave Pensacola and find a new career path, but today is not the time for Capt's sake, nor mine. Besides, I am still in love with my home town (as you are yours) and am quite content here for a while longer, at least until that next path pulls Stephen and I, walking hand in hand, to our next destination.

I do completely relate to you and your situation, and it excites my mind to hear you describing paths in ways which mirror my life today (your words much more vivid and colorful than my own). I lived through the negative side of my letter, sacrificing what I wanted for the sake of another, loosing the bond of compromise. And I would never wish that upon anyone I loved. It tends to be a blind path: you think you are going the way life intended only to be nose first in a dead end. The only way out is backing up and starting anew...not always a bad thing, but certainly avoidable.

I applaud J for digging your brain to make sure what he wants and what you want are truly on the same page. Sharing dreams is certainly a wonderful feeling! (and just happens to help make dreams more likely to become reality)

Paix, ma cousine sage,
Leigh

Some Coral Imagery for You

2009-03-29T15:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

It's been a hectic couple of weeks, hence my not checking to see if you'd written back to my last letter til now. My roommate is all married, and I've managed to catch up on all the work I didn't get to do while I was off planning and celebrating.

I also put off replying to your post, because my first reaction was knee-jerk defensiveness, and I've learned that careful thought produces better writing and better decisions, overall.

While staying in this area after I'm out of grad school and building our little piece of country heaven is what J and I have discussed, we've mostly discussed it as what we'll do if I can't find a job I want anywhere else (lately I've been making the assumption that I won't find anything). Your post actually made me bring the subject up with him again, and he said that he imagined us going where I find a good job or, if I don't find a well-paid job that I want, staying in the Southwest Virginia area for a little while so that he can save money for eventual grad school. I'll get a 5-year teaching license, teach somewhere, and when those five years are up...well, maybe the time for J to get his MFA will have already passed, and we'll be living in a new place near his school.

I guess, because I know that it's going to be hell trying to find a job once I've graduated, I wanted to build a dream-future here, too, where the money will likely be. "Plan for all possible contingencies." That doesn't mean that staying is a compromise, for me, because being with J is part of my life plan, too. Having a home with him, wherever it is, is part of my plan. The rest can come when it may--I have no intention of sacrificing anything I want for anything I don't want. I may sacrifice something I want for something else I want--for instance, sacrifice living in this area outside of town (which, I have to tell you, is the most beautiful place I've seen this time of year, and I'm counting every foreign country I've been to) for that dream job in an ugly part of the country, or sacrifice that dream job to live somewhere as beautiful as Meadows of Dan (it sits on the top of a mountain--beautiful hills, covered in fog when the clouds are low). Everything comes at the cost of something else.

My Boston plans were ambitious--excessively so. I haven't got the money. But I still want the adventure. The thing is, I also want this other experience of staying with J.

The way I imagine my life is like that kind of coral that looks like a fan made of veins...do you know the kind I mean? And each vein is a possible path, and each has several paths leading from it, and each path offers the same possibility for fulfilment or whatever. None of them leads backward, really. So, picture J's coral fan intersecting mine, and the intersecting veins not necessarily including Boston, but including dozens of other equally appealing ideas of life that we both have (his fan including some ideas that mine doesn't, and mine including some ideas that his doesn't. It's like a Venn diagram (mixing metaphors; sorry)). I don't see myself following, but rather merging these paths, sometimes taking the detours I want to, sometimes taking the ones he wants to, but always doing what is in the best interest of our security.

I hope that made sense.

Don't worry, I have no intention of following anyone. Walking beside, perhaps, convincing and being convinced to follow routes I/he might not have otherwise taken...but not following.

Though, I admit, I do have the tendency to defer to what others want. J, however, is aware of this, and (almost too often) asks me what I think, what I want, what will make me happy. We'll see how it all turns out...

Love,

Kate

Home Sweet Home

2009-03-18T06:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

When you feel strongly about a given topic, you should air it out like rugs on a spring day. Lest you want those thoughts to grow old and musty, harboring in your soul!

There was a time in my younger days when roommates seemed the way to go. But those ideas left as quickly as they hatched. Like you, an only girl in the family, I was raised with my own room; my own space to write, listen and play music, do homework, hide, and simply be me. I never did well with sharing my personal space. In fact, I can only think of one roommate who fit the bill of independent living in a shared space. With other folks whom have shared living quarters, I remember distinctly thinking like you now think: Only “x” amount of days left until FREEDOM!! Luckily, I was so intent on having my own space, I usually sought out small, affordable living arrangements: one room or studio apartments. So when the stray friend did arrive needing a place to stay, it was usually cramped, but thankfully, short lived.

Having a “home” though has always been an interesting concept. My parents moved to St. Louis my senior year in high school, and I stayed behind. Panama City was my “home” until I realized it was no place to rest my head. Too much negative energy. So my move to Pensacola helped me rediscover a town to call my own. Where my parents live will never be an address for me. Rather, I have always felt drawn to make where my feet land my residence.

Once upon a time, I shared a great little home. However, when things started going wrong with mr. ex, my “home” no longer felt as such. I had to make the difficult decision to pick up and move. There is a point for this thought, and I use it as a gentle warning. My home with the ex started nice: a big plot of land for a garden, walls I could paint, a shed for my creating, rooms with big windows. But I was the one left struggling to keep that house a home. I was the one cleaning, cooking, shopping, mowing, tending, tidying, pruning, vacuuming, washing…time slipping away while I felt alone in my efforts to keep up a “home.” It no longer felt like “ours.” And that is my warning: You with your accommodating ways: Don’t find yourself always doing the household chores alone… you tend to eventually resent the one who was supposed to be the other part of “we.”

I only say this because I continually see you saying, “wherever J goes, I’ll follow.” Now, don’t get me wrong, I like J. And I like his philosophy of not longer putting off living because of the “first I have to’s” (unless it’s a necessary “have to” in order to reach a wanted goal…like “having to…” raise some money to build on a plot of land from granddad). But, on the flip side of the coin, you do have the masters. What does Kate truly want to do, outside of J? And is it something that perhaps J could follow you?? Now, I am ok of Kate truly wants to follow J, I just want Kate to go because KATE WANTS TO, not because J expects Kate to follow. Am I making sense? Part two of leaving ex was because he found contentment; there was no longer a sense of adventure. If I were the kind of person to be happy in one place, then perhaps I could have stayed. However, like J, I believe life is an adventure worth living. I felt I was losing me by giving in and trying to mould myself to another’s life. I was driven to move on, and in doing so, I found a corner of the earth to call my own. And in that corner, I was able to rediscover and reclaim ME.

With my reclaim to the life that is mine, the capt joined in my journey. We share the same sense of adventure, and my home has become “our” home, completely and truly (he even does his own laundry!!). He has opened my eyes to a new definition of home. The capt lost his home to Katrina, and during a weekend outing, he took me to see the concrete slab that is all which remains of the place he once called home. We have learned that home may often be embellished by the objects of furniture and nick knacks collected over the years. But a home, if you’ll excuse the cliché, is truly where the heart is. As in, the capt and I do share the ideas of a nice quiet plot of land with a garden and a writing room, but we also know we would be equally at home on a boat with our only belongings fitting into one bag. Home is where he is, and vice versa.

So, in conclusion, continue to play your patience card, but know your companionship with J is just another simple form of “home.” Continue to look forward to that little house you will one day call you’re your own, but don’t allow those desires to cloud over what you have today. I am excited for your apartment to be, and excited for your future, but don’t forget the now, for it is where we must live.

Peace, and Patience, ma cousin,

Leigh

Sometimes I wish people would go away so I can do everything my way.

2009-03-13T15:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

This is a long one.

I'm feeling pretty uninspired, at the moment, but at the same time hopeful. Could be the weather--very gray. On the one hand, I'm upset because I just had to leave my cat with my parents for a couple of months due to the edict of J's roommate, who cannot stand messes of any kind, even if they are a tiny dot of poo that an excited feline left on the carpet after leaving the litterbox slightly prematurely...

I'm also frustrated that I cannot know precisely what is going to happen in the next six months or the next year and a half. I'm only contracted for 9 months at a time, which leaves me lost for the three months of summer. In addition, J is feeling that he doesn't like nor does he fit into the academic world (can't blame him; I'm starting to hate it), so he might not go to grad school for his mfa. Which is fine with me, actually, except that I don't want to be in Blacksburg after I graduate, and if he doesn't get an assistantship somewhere I don't know where else we'll go. I believe I've exhausted this town.

On the other hand, I'm excited about the apartment J and I leased for next year (nice and quirky with 60s appliances and wood floors), I'm excited about finally getting to teach my own classes, and I'm excited about what I've come up with for my thesis. Also, the possibilities opened up if J doesn't go to grad school make me a little giddy. His point is that he's continually putting off living the way he wants to by saying "well, first I have to do ____." So, why not just be brave and live the way we want to? He's already got a bit of land that his granddad will give to him, and if we both get salaried jobs--even if they're just at sandwich shops--we could get a nice enough loan to create a home.

I guess that's really what I feel like I'm missing right now. A home. My belongings are split between two places, my cat is with my parents because I have to accommodate three different roommates (two of which will be newlyweds in a week and a day and already drive me nuts with all the wedding blah blah blah). Thoreau says at the beginning (ish) of Walden, "At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible site of a house," and when I read that for the first time a week ago I almost went "YES!" aloud. I see every bit of land as a possible place that could be MINE, where I can have my cat and have my boyfriend and choose my own furniture and my own temperature and keep things clean and nice-smelling, where I can arrange my books attractively on my thrift-store shelves and put the mirror my Aunt made me above my little white desk to create a vanity, where I can keep my bathroom stuff IN THE BATHROOM and put the cat's litterbox somewhere away from where I hang out...*takes deep breath*...and where I can practice my violin without worrying about any roommate but J, who would probably play along with me, where I can have a corner for my easel and a corner for my comfy reading chair, where I can have my dishes without having to dig them out from under hundreds of my roommate's dishes, and where I can keep the table clear enough to have tea at in the afternoon when I get home from campus.

Mostly, I can handle not being in control. I'll admit that I'm generally a passive person. When it comes to my space (or, next year, my classroom), however, I must have it my way, or I'll be unhappy. I love your little house because it's so yours. It suits the life you lead--what would you do with more rooms? Why have cable if you're not into watching the crappy shows that are on it? (By the way, I'm considering living without cable next year, not only to save money but to keep myself from shows like "Real Housewives of Atlanta"). J just barely understands my discomfort, and my roommate doesn't understand it at all.

My mom, on the other hand, understands perfectly just like she understands that I'm accommodating to a fault. She's watched me nest my entire life--I used to bring photos of my family and my cat on trips and tape them up around wherever I slept. Now, my only options of places to stay are: 1) an apartment overrun by my roommate's and her fiance's stuff where I feel uncomfortable watching the tv since it--and all the furniture--isn't mine and the couple is way more into their shows than I am, or 2) an apartment where I don't pay rent but where I'm allowed to nest and keep my clothes and books and pictures in J's room, where (until now) I could hang out with our cat, but where I feel guilty cooking or showering or existing and where there's a roommate so finicky about cleanliness that he cracked a window (it was 20 degrees outside) and left a cup of ammonia on the stove after J and I made popcorn the other day.

I'm so frustrated! I need a place to call home.

I can tie this into our discussion of technology, as well: just as each person (generally) has a physical space in which they feel comfortable and which needs to be respected, each person has a technological space in which they are comfortable and which needs to be respected. I plan on extending mine to my classroom, since I consider that my space. Once the students are out of my space, they can text while browsing the internet and listening to clangy music on their iDoEverythingButBrushYourTeeth[ThoughThat'sInDevelopment].

I apologize for being so long-winded. Repression isn't good for me, but I've had to become good at it to keep the various roommates happy. 2 months til freedom!

Technological Soapbox

2009-03-12T06:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

Three months have passed since out last correspondence, well…since my last response! There truly are no excuses for my hiatus…
Writers Block: No. I just haven’t been writing
Laziness: No. I have been pretty busy
Too Busy: No. One can always find time.
The truth is, I just haven’t been writing! Sometimes I feel I can attribute it to a simple case of Burnout. Not from our letter writing, but perhaps my job. Or even sometimes my indecisiveness over what I want to “be when I grow up.” There is a transition waiting over the next hill in my life, and maybe it is an impatience for that next climb that keeps me from my writing and sets me in this rut of “burnout.”

I think some of this draining with my work stems from the same frustrations you experience in the classroom. I feel sometimes I bear an old-fashionedness that frustrates me towards the ageing younger generations (the rising high school kids in my case). The technology you refer to in your letter can certainly be to blame. You grumble that kids no longer read: why read when you can watch the movie or download the cliff notes? The internet caters so much to these kids, their teachers and leaders should be catering as well! Cell phones with texting dominate the lives of my teens. Yesterday I was at the beach and I saw a young girl walking along with her boyfriend. She was adorned in her bikini and carrying her cell phone in her hand. I wanted to ask: “why couldn’t you leave that device behind while you walked?” I have to force my kids to leave their cell phones in a “cell phone station” so they don’t text or call during my programs. Video games have replaced outdoor games. When I lead a retreat at our campsite, the kids want high tech: movies, power point, video games. I want to shake them and say: WE’RE OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS!! TV today jumps and flashes so much I realize there is no surprise that the kids cannot sit still for five minutes without something to artificially stimulate their minds.

I look at society today and see the distress of the economic times. This technology has somewhat lead to this need of bigger and better, brighter and flashier toys. Power Boats, Gaming Systems, Sports Cars and SUVs, Music Players, Internet Touch Phones. It is no wonder that these expensive habits are causing such grief when budgets become tighter. I know of kids who need to get a new game each year for their xBox or Wii…but those games aren’t cheap! Phone charges become more costly the more applications you need (unlimited text, unlimited minutes, unlimited internet). Gas prices…need I say more.

Again I say maybe I am old fashioned. I do not have cable, internet, more than one car, or too fancy a phone. I do have a garden, some books, a radio, and an imagination. I cannot tell you how many friends (and family) have commented on their desire NOT to come to my house because I don’t have a TV to entertain. I didn’t realize sitting the back yard chatting and stargazing wasn’t entertaining. Nor did I know people don’t like listening to original music on NPR. Also, I have heard that my house it too small (Do I really need more space? It’s just more I’d have to CLEAN!) I have a friend who actually tried to convince me to buy HER house so she could buy a bigger one for her and her husband. Do two people really need all that space? I don’t have that much stuff…and I have come to realize that when I do become crowded in my small house, it may be time to consolidate!

Having read over the past few paragraphs, I feel I have become my “Father’s Daughter.” We two can be quite the grumblers. As I get these grumbles out of my system…I feel a need to defend technology. I do own a cell phone. I do like to blog and email. But I don’t let those things run my life. I am thankful for the life I have. It is a life suited for me. I respect that others may not like my lifestyle, but it’s ok…that is why it is MY life. No one can tell me how to exist much less than I can insist another live like me. I have my faults, and yet, here I am throwing the first stone. So to turn this whole letter from a grumble to productive verbiage: I work hard to try to throw my simplistic way of life into the whirlwind of technological living in which my kids have been raised. Rather than force myself or others to accept one way of life over another, I would rather stress the need to adapt: keeping one’s own identity, hoping it may rub off or mesh with the next generation.

I know this does not help much in the gist of your letter…I just decided to hop upon my trusty soapbox and go to town. Again, accept my apologies for my hiatus, and know I will do better at keeping up my end of the conversation!!

Paix, ma cousine,

Leigh

Epiphanies and my dislike of technology in the classroom.

2008-12-03T08:13:00.000-08:00

Dear Leigh,

A little while after I wrote that last post, I reached some of the same conclusions you did. It dawned on me in poetry class, actually...we were working through some Jorie Graham (amazing poet), and my professor mentioned that the next section of Graham's book of poetry focused on standard events in the life of a woman (or anyone, really). Suddenly I realized that here was a woman writing about a life not remarkably different from anyone else's and doing it in a way that brought out the emotion and movement of ordinary occurrences. What she does is beautiful, and, though it mirrors ideas that other poets have had and events that others have experienced, it brings out something that only she can articulate. If Jorie Graham can write about being her--a woman, a wife, a mother, a daughter--then I can, too. Those things that inspire me have so often felt unworthy because of how ordinary they are, yet those are the same things that led Graham to write and gain respect in her field.

So I don't have to find something to be passionate about outside of myself and my relationships, which are what really drive me, to write or paint in a meaningful way. My work may not be like Jeremiah's--it definitely won't be--but it can be equally good. I guess that my primary realization was that it isn't that I don't have passion, it's that I don't recognize the passions that I have as passions worthy enough to be pursued within the academic realm or extended into my creative endeavors.

***break for department meeting***

Since that day in poetry class, I've been noting the images and memories that affect me and have taken up the project of writing about what it's like to move through this world as the person that I am. The connections that I make between separate and seemingly unrelated moments are, in my opinion, what can separate my writing from the cliche writing about boys and friends and going from adolescence to adulthood (not sure I'm quite finished with that).

As for following J wherever he might go...I'm like you with the captain. I'd follow my intense writer/procrastinator/banjo-er/guitar-er halfway around the world if that's where he wanted to go next, but I think that part of love--outside of a force that will move you out of your comfort zone--is a compatibility that means that following the one you love wherever they want to go isn't necessarily the antithesis to doing precisely what you want to do for you.

What I mean is that, though I will go to whatever place J wants to attend grad school, I'm confident that the place he chooses will have opportunities for me, as well, both socially and professionally. I'm also itching to get out of Blacksburg...I'm excited to go someplace new. And I'm excited about our plans to eventually come back to good old southwest Virginia and build our own place--on land he will likely inherit--not just because he proposed the idea (I didn't have a clear one in mind) but because it hearkens back to my little-girl dreams of living in the country and producing at least some things for myself.

On a different note, I'm concerned about the direction education is heading. We just had a meeting about ePortfolios, and I find that the faculty are more focused on incorporating technology for technology's sake than they are on incorporating it when it has a clear and useful purpose. Just because it's new doesn't mean it's progress...so many times the computers only serve to complicate things further and add work for teacher and student alike. I also disapprove of this "student-centered" learning in which we are encouraged to coddle students with short-attention spans who don't like to read books. I refuse to bring unnecessary technology into my theoretical classroom just because kids nowadays cannot pay attention or take notes. Why should we accept the decline of reading and real critical thinking and communications skills? College is a place to be challenged, not a place for hand-holding.

In my opinion, anyway.

I'd love your thoughts...hope you're well.

Love,

Kate

An Optimistic Soap Box

2008-12-01T11:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Kate,

I read the date of your last letter and was riddled to shame at the length of time I’ve allowed to lapse for my response. However, as I re-read your thoughts, it sparked the same emotion I felt the first time I read your words a month ago. Why it took me so long to respond… I don’t feel right making excuses, because there are none.

The emotions corresponding with your words first dealt with your talk of following J wherever his life may lead. Upon first glance, I fluffed up my feathers of female independence and thought NO!! You should be foraging your own path, and fitting his life to yours. But then I realized my own shoes would follow the capt’s half way around the world and back for two reasons. The first reason is simply because I love him so much, I would never want to be apart from him. His life and mine flow along the same path so effortlessly that I do not feel I am losing any part of my own identity in accompanying him. The second reason is as simple: his life would lead me on the road of adventure I so much adore in this existence. So my thoughts back to your willingness to follow J – I pray that his life will lead you on that adventure, positively influencing your life’s accomplishments. I know you have the commitment with him, I simply pray the second piece won’t lead you into a life of settlement. I do believe you know as well as I that life is truly an adventure worth living.

The second emotion that bubbled from your letter deals with comparison. You are a wonderful person: intelligent, talented, creative. Yet you compare your gifts to those of J. You should be looking to him more for inspiration perhaps than comparison. You are both truly differing people with differing abilities. I fear when we begin to evaluate ourselves against those we admire, we will always fall short. We will never be good enough – You really have your own talents and passions without need for personal judgement based on another's life. I have found that I could many times set my own self up for doubt if I compare myself within YOUR shadow, rather than using it for inspiration. You amaze me, yet I know I have my own abilities outside of your glow. There is no comparison. I fear that when we stumble into a life of “us vs. them,” we set ourselves up for certain failure! We will never be as good as “them” because we are “me’s.” You are the individual with the individual talent – a talent you need to tend to rather than compare. I’ll never be as good a sailor as the capt, but that’s ok, that talent belongs to him. I am simply along for the ride, silently learning as much as possible to become the best I need to be at his sport.

Finally, as to your thesis: Sometimes the topics we choose as “easy” may be those towards which we feel some form of passion. In other words, what you may consider “easy” may not be so for another whose passion falls in another field. For you, your love is in the evolution of the short story. Another may hate the idea of the evolution, and rather focus on the writers choice of pen name. There are so many pieces. Like I mentioned before, both in my previous letter and within this paragraph, passion is that in which we find ease because we love the topic so much. You need to write about what you love: music, thrift-stores, painting, short-stories. Don’t feel your life is so humdrum that you believe it would make for a boring tale. I believe Jane Austen’s tales were not about very interesting lives, yet she wrote them with her own passion – threading that flow of emotion needed to grasp a reader’s adoration. Simply: it is fine to write about those things which are “easy” because they are often the things we care most about, thus weaving the ribbon of interest based upon our own experience and zeal.

Best of luck to your writing, ma cousine.
Paix,
Leigh

2008-10-18T22:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I know exactly what you mean. Though I enjoy many things--a good book, writing an interesting sentence, painting, awful fashion shows on tlc--I tend to lack passion about any of them. It's become particularly apparent to me in the last few months, when I've found myself faced with the question of what I want to do after graduate school, and when I've found myself questioning why I'm here to begin with.

From the beginning, the professors reference our THESIS, that horrible paper we'll be writing next year, and from the beginning I've been trying to figure out what mine is going to be on. I like creative writing, and I like reading, so maybe I'll look into the evolution of the short story as an American genre, yet this idea fails to excite me beyond "oh, that'll be relatively easy to write about." Other people have chosen eras that they love, authors that they love, yet I...I just like to read. I like a good story. I like to know about the people who wrote the story, and I like to know how that comes through in their work. Yet, still, none of it excites me beyond "oh, that book sounds interesting; I think I'll read it if I can find the time."

Then I watch and listen to J, who agonizes over his stories, who turns out wonderful and original prose, who can argue passionately about a number of things, and I feel as though I'm failing in some way. As a human, am I not supposed to have a calling?

I haven't touched my most recent painting in a month, I can't seem to come up with a good story let alone finish one, and a thesis just sounds like a chore to me. Afterward...honestly, I'll take a job wherever J plans to finish grad school, as long as it pays okay and seems somewhat interesting. I'll have weekends to clean and do my little hobbies like sewing and painting and thrift-store shopping...

It seems like I'll live a life where my passion won't be translated to paper. I'd love to be a writer, but my life up until this point has been entirely too average, and I don't care to write about it. I wish I could make it relevant to others, and I wish I could think of an era of English literature that inspires me, but the truth is I just want to be able to enjoy my family and small occupations comfortably, and that's not really novel-worthy...

So I don't really have an answer to it all. I feel similarly to you, and most of the time I'm pretty much okay with that. Every now and then, though, I wish I had an intense interest in medieval linguistics or...Rudyard Kipling...or...writing the next great american novel. I just don't have that thread, as you say, to weave through my writing that makes it exciting and relevant enough to be said to have passion except on the most superficial level.

My cat just began to snore. I think it's time to go to bed.

Love,

Kate

Prioritizing Passion

2008-10-15T18:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

I love the memory given by your mother in her letter. Here was her daughter, wanting a walk, but content to fend herself. Consequently, mom reevaluates the importance of her choice in this situation, and decides instead to spend good quality time with her daughter. So often in our society we miss this quality time…Look at your closest relationships now. You, like me, are content in solitude, but appreciate good quality time spent with those dearest to our hearts (though the actual number within that intimate circle only requires the use of one hand to count).

Just now I sit writing you, alone in my home, content with the music in the background and the snoring of the herd. I had spent some needed time reading a great book, a gift from the capt. costing him only a quarter. Soon I will be leaving for a drive over to my brothers, and though capt has had a long rough day, he has chosen to ride with me the hour’s distance to Destin. I have to go regardless and would have gone alone, but he who had the choice decided going along for the ride mattered. And I love him a little more for that decision. Now this obligatory ride will become one of good quality time spent with a wonderful companion…a nice break from the monotony of obligations.

Alluding to your letter though, these sacrificial decisions must be balanced on either side of any relationship for bonds to hold. It sounds like your friend in Atlanta demands all from you with little to return. I do not wish to make assumptions, but I do often find myself constantly in the shoes which cause me to bend backwards to others. And slowly it results in great weariness. I find I often have to take a step back and let the plate fall. If it doesn’t break, I’ll eventually return it to its place. (Luckily the doc’s plate shattered, and I am a happier person for it!) So I pray for the sake of your relationship with Atlanta – I pray she assists in keeping the plate of your friendship spinning, so you alone are not drawn to weariness, risking the break of a special relationship.

Now to shift topics –

I finished a book New Songs in an Old Café by Robert James Waller. It is a collection of essays written mostly for the Des Moines Register. I bring this up because I felt his essays were filled with such passion! This passion emitting from his pages led me into deeper thoughts. One essay, which actually is a commencement speech, deals with the topic of Romance. And I get it. I felt it did a fairly good job describing my lifestyle: open to the joys of life, in whatever form they may mold – music, nature, solitude, poetry. Like I said – I get it. When not bogged down by family strains, I embrace those joys of life: the dawn of a new day, the colors of a sunset, the uncertain adventures taken in life, the tune of a strummed or hammered dulcimer, the acceptance of dogs unconditional love. It is all beautiful.

But I do tend to lack passion. This passion is not directly spoken to by Waller, but you can feel it in his works. I discussed this with a friend over lunch, and friends idea was practice…the more you write, the more passion becomes apparent. I agree with this, but I just feel there is something more. I once learned at a soccer camp that practice made permanent. If I continue to write with lifeless allure, then my future writings will continue to embrace nothing. I think, obviously, we need to write about topics of which we devote a great deal of care, and to immerse yourself into that about which you do care. Learn it, live it, feel it, understand it. This way you can accurately defend your position with not just scholarly knowledge, but experience. This passion draws you towards certain books, events, adventures, lectures. And when you write about said experiences, your words flow from your mind faster than your fingers can write. There is such energy emitting from your pencil, others feel rather than read your writings. Back to the Waller example, his essays may not have dealt directly with things which interest me, but I felt emotion boil up inside as I experienced his words.

So, my question…where is my passion? (rhetorically speaking) Where are the emotional ribbons I need to weave through my words? What do I care so much about that I am leaving feelings rather than ink? I like many things, sure: natural freedom, local produce, French lifestyles, panting dogs, irresistible food, sensational grace. Yet I feel I lack that extra oomph to passion. I’m not upset over this, just in awe. I pray perhaps this realization will spark a desire to deepen my knowledge in said areas, so I too can write with the emotional conviction seen in so many writers (Kingsolver, Lamott, Bryson, Quinn).

Paix, ma cousine,

Leigh

Spinning Plates

2008-09-25T11:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I love your plate-spinning metaphor. Reminds me of a Radiohead song...I'll come back to it.

For now, I have to focus on the strange tension between wanting to be left alone and not wanting to be alone at all. I can't really expound on being happy flying solo, because (though I found plenty to do with my time that I don't do so much now) I wasn't happy on my own from the day I understood that each person is supposed to have somebody. Even in first grade I pined over some boy or other. It's acculturation. Occasionally over the years I've hit points where I felt content on my own and proud of what I did with my time, but always I returned to a place where I felt bitter toward people yet ultimately wanted to be a part of the successful heterosexual partnered group. I never could help myself, and I recognized that as a weakness of sorts.

Back to the spinning plates. My parents were supposed to come visit this weekend, but, due to weather, have canceled the camping trip whose return route would lead them directly past Blacksburg. It's rescheduled for two weeks from Sunday, when my friend Laura has planned for me to go visit her in Atlanta. Part of me looks on this rescheduling as a blessing, because it's one more reason for me not to go see my friend.

I'll explain. In August, she and I tried to plan a time that we could see each other. Fall break seemed like a good time, so I said all right, if I have enough money. The thing is, I don't have enough money. And my tires are balding. And a week ago my car wouldn't start, opening my eyes to the catastrophe that breaking down on the road would be. And, because of Jeremiah, I'm suddenly more concerned about my own mortality. And I don't like talking to Laura much anymore... Yet, in spite of several good reasons to not embark on a 6 1/2 hour drive to Atlanta, I can't bring myself to tell Laura I'm just not going. The dynamic of our relationship has always been "do what Laura wants." Which was fine, since I'm a generally passive and eager-to-please kind of person.

So I feel guilty that I don't want to go on this trip, because it will put me further into a debt I've finally started to repay, because my vehicle is aging quickly, because I honestly can't afford to spend the time away from my desk. I feel guilty that part of me is glad my parents rescheduled for the 12th. I feel guilty that I've changed so much that when Laura talks about how one of her goals is to be making six figures in X years I feel disdainful, which isn't fair...

All of this reminds me of a letter my mom wrote to me when I was six to be delivered when I turned 17 (we lost it; she found it again this year). In it, she tells the story of a day when she was cleaning the house. I'd asked a few times recently to take a walk on the trail in the neighborhood park, but she kept saying "later." Then, she said, while watching me play quietly on my own as she cleaned, she realized she had her priorities all wrong. She asked if I'd like to go for a walk, and, she says, my eyes lit up. We walked, and she listened and enjoyed my six year-old's excitement as I chattered about everything I saw along the way. Her advice, based on this and my continual deference to my brother's wishes, was to not be afraid to do what I want now and then. It's good to want to make other people happy and to go along with their plans, but sometimes it's also good to have your own or to say no to an idea that you don't like that much.

It's the best letter I've gotten and reveals a tendency we have in our family to not want to inconvenience anybody, to the extent that we'll be visiting in the same town and not call to say hi, because we worry we'll just bother or interrupt (my brother, aunt Brenda, and Uncle Michael were all in Blacksburg a few weeks ago...I found out halfway through the weekend in which they visited...never got a call. My response: to also not call and risk bothering them).

So, right now, Laura is the plate that is slipping. I think, however, that it may be okay to let that one fall this time. I want to see my parents; I haven't for more than an hour or so in months. Seeing her that weekend would also mean not seeing them until...Thanksgiving?

I hope you're doing well. Life seems to get stressful this time of year.

Love,

Kate

Side Show in the Circus

2008-09-18T08:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

It is interesting, this thought of independence. I was mulling on it more this morning, and many of the thoughts I hatched were alluded to in your letter. I have been slow in my response, still allowing some time to heal old wounds. But I feel on the fast track back to my ol’ self, regaining some of my tough outer skin, disallowing silly remarks to stab deeper than the speaker intended. Though there are still times when I just want to curl up and cry. For example, just Tuesday some walker with her stupid perfect dog walking leash-less by her side made a comment about my herd walking. Molly went slightly ballistic in her own puppy way at the sight of this other dog, causing my other two to pull each way, trying to determine the cause of an ADD puppy’s excitement. I thought I handled my herd fine, for one who is out weighed and out muscled by the combined hounds. Individually, they are wonderful, fairly well behaved dogs…with Molly’s puppy-ness exception. But together, they feed off each other’s excitement and curiosity. It is tough, but we do well.

But then there are the days I want to shoot them to the moon.

Independence is a funny thing. I am reading the book Into the Wild about a boy going into the Alaskan wilderness to live alone for a while. The deepest form of independence, if you ask me. I sometimes think that is where I would like to be, living in pure solitude with no human contact. However, I believe it would have to be more or less a temporary fix, just a short time sans human contact to defrag from the demands of society… the same as those you highlighted in your letter. Yet I know I will never be truly free of the demands of my kids, my friends, my family, my dogs. So, I do try to find “me-mo’s”: me moments of quiet solitude to ease a troubled soul, tensions pulled tight by social demands, my thin bands of sanity unraveling. Sadly, it is not quite so poetic as a Walt Whitman journal entry, but my quite times are the best I can supply in my current situation.

Basically life is nothing but plate spinning. You sit on stage, spinning a plate on a post. Yet the crowds did not come to see you balance one plate, so you start the next saucer a spinning, then the next, then the next. How many plates can you get moving before the first one falters and you find yourself unable to rush back to keep it balanced. Our social demands are like this. Mom and dad want a visit, brother wants a party, friends want a sponge, kids want a lock-in, dogs want a walk, boyfriends want attention, ex wants a reunion, the self just wants a vacation.

We are never truly independent. There will always be a demand from someone lurking in the shadows. But I think this independence can be healthily embraced if we can find, or demand a compromise from other parties. One of my college youth made a great comment the other day: She is happy when she is single, and happier when dating someone who is compatible. Obvious remark. But the first line is where we falter. Being happy solo. I have been there. Unhealthy relationships have caused me to lose some of this independent confidence. I tend to a personality which would gladly give all and then some for those around me, and often it is to the determent of my own happiness. But I am again feeling stronger these days, and more ready to take on the world, demanding more compromise from friends, work, and dogs. You and I tend to be the same in this, we let others tramp over our strive towards independence. We have to learn to butt in on those conversations to give our own related grievances, to demand the family make the drive for a visit, or, as you have done (kudos to you)…detach from the phone for moments of uninterrupted silence. “Just say no” is not only a slogan for drug use. Independence is not just about being solo, it is about forming healthy relationships, where we can be happy in our solitude, and happier still in our balanced relationships.

Just so long as no one makes a snide comment on the erratic behavior of my puppy…Molly’s an idiot, I know this, but she’s a cute idiot!!

Vivre en Paix

Leigh

"independence" has a price

2008-09-01T09:39:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

There is definitely a danger in independence, in that if you choose to be independent in some areas then others will assume that you want to be independent in all areas, or that you are always capable of self-sustainment (monetarily, emotionally, whatever). Your post came at a time when I'm struggling for a little independence, not because anybody is trying to hold my hand or because my parents are too involved but because I want to prove to myself that I can survive. Luckily, so far I've gotten along all right with the knowledge that there's help if I need it.

That's where the difference is, isn't it? I know that, if I need it, I can call mom and dad about rent or car repair or health insurance or any number of other concerns, and they're close enough that I can even run home for a weekend. They remind me of this every few weeks. I sometimes wonder, though, about my friends. [segue into slightly new topic]

I have good friends. They're great people, and I like hanging out with them. Recently, however, I've begun to tire of the demands of these friendships...one friend always wants to hang out but it's usually at a time inconvenient for me now that I go to bed by midnight and try not to drink (I'm poor, and alcohol's not all that great most of the time), one friend is upset that I'm not at my place much but instead at J's (last year when she started dating her boyfriend she disappeared from her apartment and moved into his), and another is upset that I don't have my phone by me at all times anymore (but how many times in the past years has she really listened to me? It's always been about her problems).

I know that my irritation is immature, and that's why most of the time I ignore it. But every now and then I want it to be about me, and this is where I come back to your original topic. My theory is that, because I'm a quiet and usually passive person, I've attracted friends who are not, and in so doing had to depend upon myself emotionally for most of the major events in my life. When plans are made, I usually meet others on their side of the spectrum of compromise, and if I don't feel listened to I don't complain because I really don't care to butt in. My journal listens to me. Family listens to me. So maybe, through all of this, I've given people the impression that I'm fine on my own, that I don't need listening ears, too. Perhaps you've done something similar.

What's worse than immaturely feeling slighted or put upon by friends who really do mean well most of the time is that, now that I'm trying to do things my own way for once, I don't miss them much. I don't miss going out on Friday nights with them, because what fun did we have, really? I don't often miss listening to another problem and being unable to share my own. Sometimes I'll have a day where I just want to hang out with girls, and then I do...but get pressured to go back to my old passive-listening/passive-partying self when I'm with them.

I guess what I'm getting at, in a really long-winded way, is that being an independent person is being a contradiction, and that it is difficult to balance both sides of this contradiction. As people, we occasionally need other people or want other people to care about our needs. As independent people, we like to be able to function just fine on our own. I feel as though I'm just beginning to enter the kind of independence you've had for a while, and that I'm leaving another kind of independence (or dependence on others' needing me, depending on how you look at it) behind. Some embrace the change in me, like my parents, but others (justly) find it difficult to realize that, while I'm happy to listen when I can, I'm not their 24/7 listen-to-my-sob-story or do-what-I-want-to-do person (I don't classify you as one of these people---I'm sure you know that, but I wanted it to be said anyway).

Time to (independently) go to class. Stay dry, and if you need a place to stay make it known that you need one. I'm sure people want to help; they sometimes just don't realize you want them to.

Your cousin,

Kate

Be Afraid, be Very Afraid

2008-08-28T22:47:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

It’s interesting how swiftly and busily a summer can go… for you and me. For me, summer’s are filled with work and trips and overnight events which leave me either away from a computer or simply not in a desire to keep up with the blogging network.

But my summers have been filled with youth trips and stress and dogs! So tonight I write you in a sense of a continuation to our last posting… the interesting issues of family dynamics and in the new ideas relating to the summer of the “traveling pant-suit.”

The doc and I are no longer together for reasons I’d rather not digest over this blog. So I am again free to my independence. However, my self-sufficiency is only a coveted situation on some aspects, like those revolving around not having to deal with other's drama. Or, when my house is a mess, it is the fault of my own hand and the twelve paws of the dogs which are my children. Yet, financially, I hurt, and emotionally, I am alone. Often, I fear the later one more than the former.

And that brings me to my complaints, though I wish not to make this sharing of ideas a column for the pity party of one, staring me. I hope that what I stress in this, our first letter after a summer hiatus, be a note of understanding behind my own traveling pant-suit of one.

One of my final trips was a personal trip to St. Louis. This trip was a supposed vacation involving only the four in my family, my brother and I, my mom and dad. All went well, though I was expected to, and gladly accepted to, act the responsible one during my brother’s shenanigans. We would go out each night, despite my weariness, and stay till the crack of dawn. My brother would party hardy with long lost friends, and I would sip beer, and enjoy the occasional conversation from mutual friendships…gained through my days as designated “get the boy home safe” driver. Our first night we arrived home at 4:30 in the a.m. with parents grumbling- to be expected. I would have rather walked in with enough time to rest and get a good sleep before awaking in the early hours to spend a supposedly event filled day with the folks. Plans had been made, and sadly adjusted to compensate for my brothers hangover. I think, and perhaps am wrong in believing so, that my parents would have been more disappointed had that been me needing the day’s recovery in the dark and cold basement. But the next night, the parental unit stayed out until the wee hours, needing the last full day of our trip for some recovery. Interesting how that works.

And don’t get me started on my feelings after I actually made it to “mass” with the parents: yes me, the “pagan” youth director… I wondered silently as my parents filed up for Eucharist, if they would have been more upset had I partaken, or if they were upset because I had made the decision not to follow their ritual… I really don't know why when I go to my parents, my "pant-suit" is stripped away and replaced with toddler pants. Like my responsible pushing thrity being is really an irresponsible pushing twenty aura.

Now the scary part, the part where I do often feel more like a Hilary, than a simple me. I’ll clarify quickly by saying, though I admire Hilary Clinton for her ideas, I shudder at her ability to stand up to opposing crowds and male-full jeers as she empowers the female race. I am not as stand up as she, though I do act in opposition to the female being viewed as the “weaker sex.”

Tonight I sat up at my bar with “Matt,” “Em,” and “Ray.” Em and Ray are married and in a sense help out Matt when needed. Matt is a great friend of mine, and has helped me in as many tough times as I hope to have helped him. There we sat, discussing this impending storm, and I hear a bartender friend offer his home, should Matt need a place to run. This bothered me to no question, and I haven’t a straight answer as to why? My home too is in a flood zone. Should a storm come this direction, I too have to leave. I am alone. I have three dogs and a cat. And though I know my “children” are part of the reason I have not had the sincere offers of evacuation sanctuary, I also somehow think I put off a beacon of such independence that friends either think I have someone to take care of me, or they think I am already taking care of myself.

I don’t know. The point of this letter revolves around a thought of the independent female. Do we put off such a light that others are afraid to offer comfort to us when we are in times of need, or do we put off a sense that we are already taken care of? In other thoughts, do we act as if we are repulsed by the idea of another’s offering of a helping hand?

I myself admit that I cannot live life alone. I also admit that I am so damn independent that I tend to fail at relationships. But in times of crisis, I still need a friend. I still need help, just as my MALE friend Matt at the bar.

Much love, but please, don’t mistake my words for bitterness…

Ta Cousine,
Leigh

Some thoughts on family dynamics

2008-06-18T20:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I haven't often had the opportunity to observe you around your immediate family and to see the dynamics you talk about. The week at the beach did show that Mike can get away with what he wants, though you (and the rest of us) are generally reduced to child status, something I'm fine dealing with because my brother is [usually] treated just like I am. A theory--apart from J's that they expect more from you because you are not the one who typically caused problems--that I have is that maybe it's just gender.

I say this because I've noticed that, although both Derek AND Daniel are younger than I am, I am still the 'baby' of the family. It all lies in my girl-ness--a couple of years ago, when I took a stroll on the beach by myself, the uncles and my dad were all back at the house on the balcony with binoculars to make sure I didn't speak to any guys. I like that they're protective of me, and as of yet it hasn't much cramped my style, but I see how it would if my brother were to bring a girlfriend to the beach and they were allowed to stay in the same room while J and I were forced to sleep apart. There are double standards; on the same trip two years ago my dad encouraged my brother to initiate conversation with some bikini-clad girls floating in the ocean. I wonder if their uncles were watching through binoculars...

So there's an idea. I'm sorry the trip was a disappointment...it seemed like a number of people and factors were working against your enjoying it. If it helps, my mom and I both think Doc seems like a good guy and were saddened that tensions prevented us from getting to know him a bit more. My mom got the benefit of a small car trip with him; I still don't know much about him, but I figure if you like him then he must be a pretty cool guy, especially away from the pressure of a girlfriend's family and no medication.

As for the grass's being greener on the other side, I suppose at the moment my grass may seem a bit more lush, but yours is looking pretty good, too. I have to say that I'm envious of the life you've built for yourself and of the independence you have. Everything I do follows a set path, and I more or less always do what is expected. I rely heavily on my parents for help, I'm horribly whiny about having a job, it's taken me months to figure out that I probably can't manage taking care of a cat for at least another year, I can't cook very much or well and don't have a strong desire to, and I've chosen to live in the same place for six years because it is a) familiar and b) close to my parents. My choices are safe, and though I think a lot of it is my personality I know that some is because of the way I was raised...pampered, maybe slightly spoiled... I'd be tickled if you went to culinary school, just because it's something I'd never do but which seems exciting and full of possibilities to do something unique.

I don't know if any of this helps at all, but I thought I'd give you some of my thoughts.

All the best, dear cousin.

Love,

Kate

Disappointment

2008-06-18T08:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

I chose not to call my dad on father’s day. Not until late evening. Feelings of guilt hit home following two text messages from my dad and a phone call from each parent. I finally called, gave cordial father’s day blessings, then went on my way.

The fact is, I still feel terribly battered from my week. And I do not yet see remedy in sight. I do not feel like a pushing 30 around the family, rather, I feel reduced to an inexperienced teenager. And it still pains me to the point of belligerent cursing to think and realize and experience the way my father puts my brother on such a *&#$*% silver platter. J commented that perhaps my dad expects “more” from me?! What more can I offer? I thought I was relatively successful. Happy, strong, educated. Yet, that one particular evening, I am being yelled at by both parents to “go to bed, this is not the party house, you have until 10:30.” (dost I hear tones of a curfew??!!??) Enter…Michael and the song runs over a key change: “You guys can hang out, just keep it quiet.” The little shit.

I don’t understand why my behavior (drinking?) is suddenly an issue. I do not drink to the level of both my brother AND my dad. I am somehow always caught with a beverage in hand, yet often it is the same beverage I was "caught" holding the hour before...I am a slow drinker (ask John, he joked me about it!!). Yet, I recall the "boy Welch who can do no wrong" being idiotically drunk, sitting in the driveway in a dazed stupor Wednesday night - big sister literally dragging him to bed and forcing water down his throat. Then there was my own dad’s embarrassingly boisterous behavior during dinner the following evening. And while I proudly wear the "Family Drunk" hat, still my guitar gently weeps. I felt, and still feel, like such a failure.

Then there is the doc: an impulsive light weight, who has been through much trauma in his life. He is on medication. Unfortunately, he chose not to take his medication during the week…and I suffered for his anxiety prone, obsessive compulsive, manic behavior. I killed me to see the looks and snickers occurring behind his back. It killed me to see the loss of respect in my parent’s eyes.

I feel stifled by my family; in a complete place of chaos with the doc; in a heavy strain of loss. Perhaps I expect too much from my family. Surely my own unit of four can do nothing better than fight and bicker and turn backs. I do not feel the bonds of support and encouragement. And it is not all because of the doc. It is in conjunction with my cooking, with my writing, with my music…not all great, but rather than supported, it is waved off like a seven year old's stick figure doodle.

Enough.

To your letter: you and J have a very special relationship, much different that your relationship with your dad. Your dad is proud of you. You know it very well. I don’t believe for one minute that he is hurt or offended that it took J to widen your eyes to the amazing array of joys and talents you share with your family. The fact is, you already knew of the hobbies and talents shared within your family circle (thanks to the COMBINED efforts of your parents). Often it does take an outside force to help expand and strengthen that interest. It also makes those joys more unique to you and J. Do you think for one minute that grandpa and grandma were disappointed with your mother for not following exactly to their likes? Rather, combined with your dad, those joys and interests were expanded and crafted to the new little family unit your mom was creating.

So there you are. You dad is amazing. You are amazing. You have an amazing partner. Together you can discover music and art in new and exciting ways you may have never known if left to your own devices.
I hope this helps, though somehow I don't feel like I adequately answered your letter.

Peace,
Leigh

PS
The car ride home was surprisingly comfortable. I was able to sleep most the way….it really is amazing the amount of room in that car. I was content in the back, with my herd of children, lost in thought over the revelations and disappointments of the week.

I envy what you have with your family. I suppose the grass is always greener...

I think too much sometimes

2008-06-17T17:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I'm experiencing this strange sort of guilt in the midst of my post-beach pre-work ennui.

As you may or may not be aware, this past Sunday was father's day, and I did about as much as I usually do for my dad, which is to say I gave him a hug and awkwardly told him how much I enjoyed spending time with him this year. Following this slightly uncomfortable exchange (you know those hugs where you're not sure where to put your arms?), I began analyzing the relationship I have with my dad, and came to some interesting conclusions.

Eight hours in the car (I know you had much longer!) gave me time to figure out why I feel so strange saying happy father's day to my dad, particularly this year. It's because, though we are similar in so many ways, we are different in ways so fundamental that it makes it difficult for either of us to really talk. What worries me might worry him, but his way of trying to make me feel better usually makes me even more stressed. What interests him is...almost everything, but though our interests overlap in several areas, his intensity makes me feel inadequate and unable to connect because of how seriously he takes his hobbies.

So where does the guilt come in, you ask. The guilt comes from the fact that I've introduced somebody into our lives who has interests in common with both me and my dad, and that this somebody (J) is much better at sharing music and art etc with me than my dad ever was, though he tried year after year after year. Where I was stubborn and borderline brattish with my dad, I'm relatively patient and...I don't want to say yielding, but I'm going to...yielding with J. I feel guilty that I'm allowing myself to share with J what I half-heartedly tried to share with my dad, and I feel guilty that it took until now for me to gladly and willingly cooperate with my dad in the area of music, that it took until now for me to listen.

I just hope that Dad doesn't feel in some way that he's failed, or in any way annoyed that it took somebody else to ameliorate the tension I used to feel in attempting to be how my dad wanted me to be. The way I look at it is that J facilitates my relationship with my Dad, and that that's a good thing. I don't want Dad to resent it, that's all.

Does that make sense? I don't even know.

Love,

Kate

P.S.- I was glad to hear you made it safely back to Florida...I imagine it was an uncomfortable trip with such a large crowd in your car.

Tides of early (early) adulthood

2008-06-06T08:41:00.001-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I can hardly express how excited I am about next week at the beach, even if I'm not going to be there the whole time. I'm skipping a couple days so that J can come with me...which, for me, is worth it because I so want him to meet the family and vice versa.

Our family really is a solid place in a life full of change and uncertainty. I haven't always felt so blessed, but as I strike off on my own this fall (sort of), knowing that I have not only my parents and brother but our whole family supporting me makes it easier to believe that I will succeed, and makes the thought of failure more bearable. If I should come upon hard times, you'll all still be there the same as ever, and for that I feel incredibly lucky.

Drama has turned its eye away from me and J, as well, and I'm enjoying the comfort of happily living with him, coming home to quesadillas after work, hanging out at Subway while he closes up for the night, and organizing my new apartment with the two people in mind rather than only myself. All of this (and more) is why I want to bring him to the beach. I want to integrate him into that solidity and support that is our family, because he's already taken up that role away from the family.

Sometimes I still have trouble believing how well everything is going. Our only concern is money, and it's not a huge problem. I have enough for now, and will have plenty in fall--enough to (I hope) spare J a thirty-hour work week plus classes, if he'll let me.

I was talking to my roommate yesterday, and we started discussing the way relationships morph as you get older, going from the everyone-dates-everyone-else of high school to the idealism of early college to learning from all of that and choosing something that fits, that takes work, but is worth it all. There is a huge difference, growth-wise, between an 18 year-old and a 22 year-old...at least for us...and I'm so glad of that. Sometimes, though, I wish I could've skipped all the crap in between...

Happy Friday, O cousin of mine.

Sincerely,

Kate

P.S. I really need to start paying attention to current events. This Blacksburg bubble has a thick membrane.

These times

2008-06-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

It's interesting how life progresses. The kids ebb and flow like the constant changing tides on our gulf beaches...it is ridiculous sometimes. Once one issue resolves, another evolves. But luckily it is turning the eyes of drama away from my life...finally. Side note - the kids ask: are you and doc dating? have you and doc kissed? why do you deny the dating when you guys are always eating dinner together? I laugh and simply jokingly avoid these questions from their young and nosey minds. I wish to just remind them that relationships post marriage and in the decade of the 30 -something’s look quite different than the teenage dating circles witnessed daily. They are like a "Friends" episode where everyone has dated everyone else within the circle...without serious repercussions to the group dynamics. It's interesting.

I come to mind in all this how great our vacation will be next week. The acts and scenes of our own family revolutions somehow feel not so wearing, but rather strengthening. I know the doc will definitely benefit from the love our small family circle seems to radiate every time we gather! Yea, I sound mushy. But it is a vacation on so many levels for benefit the soul. And for this Saturday afternoon, I am well ready and counting down the hours.

There is so much going on the world these days: Good, Bad, Frustrating, Exciting. We have Obama's candidacy, we have Bush's not soon enough departure, we have war, we have supporters, we have rioters, we have Olympics, we have earthquakes, we have music, we have education. In the eyes of these weeks of graduations we see new groups stepping into the working world, while the younger generations are stepping into the world of higher education. I am excited for our future, while worried and stressed for our present. I feel nostalgia for a time I never even experienced, and hope for a time when I can “now” the "Good ol' days."

These times we live in are so filled with change, with hurt, with hope. It is overwhelming sometimes. It is another reason I look forward to a small week spent with family, seemingly away from reality. We really are lucky for what we have with our aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers... I am proud to be a member of this clan. It is comforting especially in our time where families are so easily split and faced with crisis. Our unit may live many miles from one another, yet we are still so close. For that I am well pleased.

You are absolutely right in your thoughts with relationships. Sometimes we do have to take that selfish perspective and expect or hope that others will come to see and accept OUR happiness. If we, as overly obsessive people pleasers, ruin a great personal relationship to save face with others whose disapproval seep with jealousy, then we really loose. I think, and agree, that true friendship will embrace that happiness where ever it appears. In our world today, we need those rays of light and hope. Our family is definitely one that embraces.

And it is truly an amazing feeling.

Peace, ma cousine

Leigh

Sheepish because of her tardy response, yet eager to share...

2008-05-26T13:17:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

I'm sorry that it's been two posts since a response from me. Between graduating, visiting home, and giving my friend Laura the time with me that she deserves, I haven't been too close to my computer too often.

I can relate to the feeling of sort of...not being allowed to enjoy happiness newly found. For the first couple months with J, I thought the whole world was golden, turning just to make us happy. It certainly seemed that way, and everyone around us seemed to be just as happy with our relationship as we were. Once I started hearing complaints, however, our joy felt tainted...

It hurts to feel as though others don't see something that makes you happy as the wonderful thing that you know it is. It's hard to be more discreet with a relationship that just seems to fit and makes you want to announce to everyone how happy you are, and it's definitely difficult to move forward when former relationships (or non-relationships, as in my case), insist on stepping on the back of your shoes.

I've decided that, in time, my friends will come to appreciate this contentment I've found with another after so many unfortunate others and realize that, if maybe they don't see me as much or see me as much by myself, it's worth it because of how happy I am. This is kind of a selfish line of thinking, on my part, but I like to believe that, if something came along that gave one of my close friends great joy at the cost of spending some time with me, I'd be able to welcome that thing (whether it's a person or job or hobby) because of its value to my friend.

My point in all of that talking about me is to come back to you and say that once the kids are used to the idea of you and your doctor and once your employer sees that the relationship is not something casual or sinful but something that brings you joy, they'll calm down and you can openly enjoy the happiness you deserve. As for the marine...that's a wrench that will undoubtedly be difficult to handle, but time is an amazing healer...

Looking forward to the beach, we can both take comfort in the fact that we have a great family that seems to be only happy if we've found something or someone that makes us happy. My parents think J is great, and you said your parents and brother like your doctor. I can't help but feel that they'll integrate well with the rest of the family, and that there you can relax and just enjoy sharing the doctor with everyone, away from rumors and suggested discretion.

Much love and compassion...

Sincerely,

Kate

Rain on my Parade

2008-05-14T08:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate

I am extremely frustrated. I wrote recently about the joy in my life and how it can completely deter inspiration for writing. It feels now, in a sense, kind of a joke because here I sit, upset and frustrated, feeling almost hypocritical to my own thoughts posted just days ago.

I returned from a great respite trip to the mountains. The Smokie’s which surround Ashville have such an intoxicating, contagious tranquility, soothing my anxious spirit. I returned home to an amazing embrace from a wonderful man; home to tails wagging so ferociously that butt’s were hardly able to contain the unbound joy of a “herd” welcoming me home. Smiles radiated from all direction. I never felt so good coming home.

Then, a few days pass…barely. I feel I’ve been home much longer than the few actual days. Last night I was awake, feeling wretched, sleep not willing to join me on the couch, instead misery keeping company. It sucked.

Imagine the face of a child, pure in elation over the extravagant mud pie he lovingly made for his mother, only to have that joy obliterated because mom cannot see past the mud stains on clean trousers? This is certainly hypothetical, but really, that is how I feel suddenly. Like here I am, full of joy from my return, only to have the reality of life smite me like a judge criticizing a piece one has worked hard preparing and performing.

The kids continue their ugly gossip and rumor spreading. When they speak of other youth, their words are poison, their nonchalant attitude breaking my heart. And some still rumble about my new relationship…I ran into a kid while the doc and I were grocery shopping, and have now been told by the “boss” to be “discreet” with my relationship. Um. Since when was grocery shopping a sign that I am living a life of “sin”? That’s it I suppose, no more public outings. Then of course, there is the marine. It kills me the anger in his spirit. Yet I am certainly not strong enough to stay away from him. I hurt for his hurt.

I guess am that sensitive.
Why must there be so much pain, sadness, anger, hostility, vengeance and misery in the world? Then the news opens with reports of China and Burma. It kills me, it really does. Cuz, last night I sat on my couch at two in the morning with tears rolling down my face. I believe it hurts more when your spirit wants to shine out joy, but the world, both close at hand, and oceans away, insists on smudging out that glow with gloom.
It really kills me.

Broccoli

2008-05-02T10:09:00.001-07:00

Dear Kate,

I have written before about one of my greatest role models, Anne Lamott, and her book "Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life." I highly recommend it to your reading list. I have my book marked and dogeared to a point beyond recognition.

Anyway, one chapter is titled, "Broccoli." Opening this chapter, Lamott quotes Mel Brooks: "Listen to your broccoli, and your broccoli will tell you how to eat it." Taken one way you may initially think I am telling you to listen to your pop and he will tell you how to write your story. No. I am saying listen to your story and it's characters will tell you how they wish to interact. This is YOUR story. Sure it is based upon your dad's life, but this is still your story.

Another friend once told me that all fiction is based heavily on fact. This part is obvious. You need the information from your dad to make your story believable...to make your story real. We all have read books before where the author failed in the research department, resulting in the story becoming unbelievable. (Why is it we want to believe something meant to be fiction??)

There is a point here...and it is found in the next chapter: "Radio Station: KFKD" that is, K-Fucked: "the single greatest obstacle to listening to your broccoli that exists for writers." Basically it is the voices inside and outside of your brain telling you everything that is wrong with your writing. In one corner, there is a small voice is praising your work. But the other three corners house loud, differing, opinionated voices telling you everything that sucks, what needs to change, what needs removal...three voices telling you what a terrible writer you truly are. And the problem: WE LISTEN TO THOSE VOICES!!!

There really is a point here somewhere. The point: These are your writings. You need to compose YOUR own symphony of words. Ask your dad for some details, but do not tell him the reasoning for your questioning. There is nothing wrong with wanting to sit and listen to stories. You can, should you decide, joke him and tell him you are writing a book based upon his childhood. I used this line for the Doc when we first met, "So, tell me about yourself for I need inspiration for this new book I am planning to write."

Then, write your novella. Upon completion, one of two things can then happen: A. show your dad POST PUBLICATION, or, B. as my dear friend Pablo would suggest, don't publish until the person your character is based upon has passed.

I would personally choose number one. If your dad objects to your story, tell him to go write his own book. Your current plans do not involve ghost writing his personal autobiography.

So, in seriousness, I think I really am going to write that book "Doc in Paperback."
Good luck, ma cousine.

What to do, what to do...

2008-04-26T11:15:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

Once again, you're right. I can't really judge, and better to keep checking in on him than to give up trying in a fit of passive-aggressiveness. That helps nobody, and, besides, maybe one day soon we'll just start talking like you and Mike did. One can only hope.

In that vein, a siblings outing at the beach is a good idea. We can do some cousinly bonding and leave the significant others with the family (which actually doesn't make me at all nervous).

Random: So I'm writing this story based on the stories my dad likes to tell about his childhood. His family lived in Laos and Iran, so there are some interesting settings and situations. My issue is this: Since they're stories based on my dad's life, should I be writing them? Shouldn't he be writing them? My answer to myself is that I'm writing them for him, but that's not entirely true...because if that were the case, I'd be trying to keep them consistent with the details he gave. Instead, I've taken the situations and some characters and completely fabricated the way things pan out. It wouldn't be much of an issue except that I need some information about where he lived in Laos and what the socio-economic climate was like at the time. I'll have to call and explain the premise of my story...I'm worried that a) he'll be annoyed or that b) he'll want me to change what I've written so that it matches exactly what really happened. Neither would make me happy.

I could just work on a different story, but I've never had so much fun with one as I'm having with this adaptation of episodes from my dad's life...

Oh well.

Sincerely,

Kate

Family

2008-04-24T12:59:00.001-07:00

Dear Kate,

I’m glad to hear your day went well. Not celebratory, but not depressing either…a nice mediocre kind of day. I think those are my favorite: days where you don’t need to think about too much heavy stuff and really have no energy for joyous stuff. And two: the fact of that anniversary being not on the front of your brain is probably a benefit. Too often we get so wrapped up in the melancholy that we lose sight of the good… like two month anniversaries with our new found beaus.

But a new stress evolves from this: family reactions and relations. I like to think my brother and I are very close. I have seen interactions between other sets of siblings, and realize that our own relationship still lacks. We do not offer the “I love you’s” with frequency, and hugs involve too much touch. Do I believe we have a poor relationship? Naw.

Let me tell you briefly about little brother. After Matt’s death, we were pretty much separated. Daddy and Michael moved to St. Louis, mom hung out behind with me until I graduated high school. Mike had his life up north, I had mine down south. I got married, Michael got married. Even though he lived with me portions of that timeframe, I still never really felt much closeness with him. I actually felt closer with his wife.

So, Michael got divorced. I got divorced. I resented him for his, as I think he resented me for mine.

Then, I am not sure how it happened. One day we started talking. One day we started forming this bond. One day we became more than just a brother and sister in name, but in relationship. It was weird. Evolving from this was the code: Family First. I helped him move to Mobile, I supported his move to Crestview. I was and still am there for him when he has girl trouble. I would still stand up to anyone who crossed my brother for malice. In the same way I trust he would do for me.

Yet we are not perfect. We don’t always see eye to eye, and his “Pity Party’s of One” grow old really quick. Though if I ever discovered he were in town without my knowing, I would be pissed. If I sent him a gift, I think I would expect an expression of thanks… it is simply good form. When crisis happens, I would demand my brother’s attention for good will, rather than a job perk.

So I guess I am slightly upset with your brother and his hiatus, because I feel the same as you when my brother pulls that crap.

But I am also missing his side of the story, therefore do not feel justified to pass judgment. I do not think you are overlooking this relationship gap. I think you two need to find a bridge to cover that space, forming a familial relationship you need. Some simple you and John time. Perhaps express to him some of your transgressions without getting all sappy dappy. Call to check on him more often, without being obsessive. Open up lines of communication… I think he will respond. He may think awkwardness at first, but I believe he will come to his senses.

Perhaps during beach week, we can do a sibling outing, leaving the beau’s at home with the rest of the family… scary, but I’m strangely comfortable with it.

One year out

2008-04-14T18:29:00.000-07:00

Dear Leigh,

It's odd. When I first started reading your post, I thought that you were talking about mine and Jeremiah's two-month, which was last Friday. I thought, "How does she know? I didn't think I mentioned it," but then as I read on I realized...you're referring to the 16th. It's a little embarrassing to me that it's not absolutely at the forefront of my mind. At the front, no doubt, but not the very front...

-----------------

4/16

Dear Leigh,

So far I've spent the day doing what you mentioned. I've been remembering, but also cherishing the relationships I have and, in particular, the new relationship I have with J. We went to campus for a bit to retrace our steps, walk where we walked a year ago, and listen to President Steger talk. It's been somber, but not in a crippling way. I relived last year for a bit and got my catharsis in, then we went downtown to get coffee and talk about mundane things, plans for the future, etc. It's been nice to just take a day to do whatever I need...whether it's walking around campus and placing myself directly in the center of my memory of what happened last year or walking a couple miles around downtown and back to my apartment.

I've even gotten a chance to talk to my mom a little bit, though my parents are across the Atlantic and unable to call. She's adapted to instant messaging for a few weeks (their cruise ship has an internet cafe). Not a horrible day. By no means happy, but thoughtful and not lonely or desperate in any way...

Except one. The speeches on the drillfield made me tear up, of course, and I've felt an inexplicable fatigue and weight walking around campus and back to the apartment, but what affected me most (in a negative way) was getting on facebook and seeing my brother's status, which read "heading to blacksburg for the night."

...

Could've mentioned something to me about it. But he didn't...and I'm trying not to feel resentful, just like I tried not to feel resentful last year when he didn't answer my texts and only called me the morning of the 18th to ask if I or one of my friends would do an interview. At 8:30 in the morning. And just like I tried not to feel resentful after getting no response to my "happy birthday" message a couple days ago, and no message about his birthday present (which I know aren't supposed to be given with the expectation of thanks, but still). I'm focusing on loving all of the relationships I have, and in doing so I find something meaningful in each until I start thinking about my brother, and then I wonder why...I can't build anything there, make any headway, feel at all like he cares that I'm his sister (except in the most minimal sense).

Maybe there's something I'm not seeing. Thoughts?

Sincerely,

Kate

Anniversaries

2008-04-14T07:30:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

It’s interesting how an anniversary can affect our structure of life. When we begin new relationships, it is the gag cutesy little “it’s our one week anniversary…our six month…” ect. But that one year mark is always a celebration, regardless of dating or marital status. It’s the blissful, “we made it this far, we must really love each other, let’s celebrate with dinner and dancing” kind of moment.

But the one year anniversary’s of the devastating kind…there is no thought of getting dressed up to go party. At most, it may facilitate a want of donning a pair of jeans and an old hoodie, finding the local hole in the wall, and drinking away pain associated with the memory. We all have those dates. Sometimes the dates are personal, like the anniversary of my brother’s death. I still don’t know what to do with myself sometimes. Then there are the grander scale tragedies, like you and the survivors at Virginia Tech. I cannot imagine that numb feeling you must be having thinking of the date, realizing you should commemorate in some way, but how?

You (hypothetically speaking, not you personally) may think, “Should we celebrate life?” No, that somehow does not seem quite fair. “Should we continue to mourn those who have suffered?” No, those dwellings of pain can be unhealthy. We have to move on, step forward. Find that comfortable balance between joy and grief. The balance of melancholy bliss leading us introspectively into the ideas of the surrounding world. We open our eyes towards both the present and the “great” beyond, whose existence we love to question.

While I was still living in Panama City, I used to spend Matt’s anniversary at the cemetery. I started a tradition which I’ve had to modify since moving away. I used to go to the grave site and sit on the little bench mom and dad had placed there. I would light two cigarettes, place one by the marker, and smoke the other. I don’t know why my memories of my brother smoking felt cool, but I smoked to be like him. Over time, the trend has changed. I no longer sit at the site on the first of August, I no longer “smoke” with my brother. And sadly, sometimes I feel worse for not practicing those rituals. It is like I am forgetting my brother’s importance in my life.
But I’m not. I’m just growing. And I think perhaps I will find a new tradition this coming August, to honor my brother’s life, and to mourn his passing.

What does this have to do with you? I hope you hear me advising you to find that comfort zone where you can celebrate the lives of those around you at Tech while still mourning those who have gone on. I hope you hear me saying that this commemoration is something YOU must create. We can send ourselves into an unhealthy territory when we get so wrapped up in what the media elects to put on display before our eyes and ears. I worry about the misconstrued perspectives we gain when we allow others to mediate our own emotions.

Cousine, do what feels right for you. Find your own tradition where you can comfortably mourn the losses that happened so close to you, yet still thanking whomever you choose to thank that there are those around still to continue pushing forward in life, accomplishing goals and setting standards for which future generations can aspire.

Life in this bubble

2008-03-31T07:20:00.002-07:00

Dear Leigh,

Crazy.

I live in a bubble, so I hadn't heard of VT's plan to offer families and victims money. The idea is highly disturbing to me, because it suggests that a) both parties feel that money can somehow make the grief less or that b) the school is being blamed for what was a lamentable tragedy but not really the sole fault of any one person or institution.

It's especially bothersome considering the one year mark is coming up in a few weeks and, I feel, one of the last things we should be doing is placing/accepting blame or thinking that somehow reparations or deep and labyrinthine investigation will erase the basic grief.

The whole idea makes me a little squeamish. I can't say for sure, of course, but if I were in your place the offer Stew made would make me feel very strange, almost as though I'd benefit if he were lost in the line of duty. The money would inevitably be stained, and I wouldn't be able to keep it. Charity would be the only way to go.

I know that what Tech is offering is partly to help with medical bills and so forth, but something about it still doesn't feel quite right. It would seem similarly stained; the thought of putting a number on exactly how much the loss of a loved one is worth is repulsive.

Going back to the whole Kate-lives-in-a-bubble thing: I worry about the media this year. Articles and issues relating to the 16th have, I gather, been fairly consistent over the past year and experienced a spike after the Southern Illinois incident, so I expect a similar village of news vans to be camped out by our alumni center this year. I fear them more now, though, because I've had time to wonder and realize that I have almost no idea how I'm going to react to it all. Last year we sat numbly watching the news for hours, switching from program to program hoping there'd be more information (but what more could we really know?), then finally turning on something completely unrelated. It wasn't real enough yet, for me, to react strongly in a conscious way. This time...I don't know.

Part of me wants them to leave us alone (what business is it of anyone else's anyway?), and part of me wants them here so that I can feel as much as possible what it was like last time. Very strange. And mom and dad will be so far away...

Blood Money

2008-03-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

Dear Kate,

Yesterday on NPR I heard about Virginia Tech proposing to offer victims of last year’s horrific events $100,000 so as not to sue the school. I was not at first sure if what I heard was correct, as the information floored me terribly. When I got to work, I looked up the New York Times website to confirm the information. And sure enough, there it was: Virginia Tech Seeks to Avoid Lawsuits. I was instantly reminded of the time Stew once told me that, in the event he would be called to serve in Iraq, and should anything (deathly) happen to him while he was serving, I would be compensated $250,000 as aid in my grief. The idea sickened me. I’m sorry, but science is not yet advanced enough to return life to a loved one for any sum of cash. I was, and am still, really bothered by this offer.

Now, in the defense of the military, I understand that they are trying to help in some form or fashion for the horrific loss of our beloved due to their "heroic duty." But I really still feel almost insulted that a governmental branch can buy off my remorse. "In their defense" ... the money, as I was told by Stew, was to help pay for funeral arrangements and other expenses. (Though a quarter of a million makes for an awfully extravagant funeral.)

Similarly, the news yesterday made note that the money offered would be to help with medical and counseling costs for those grieving loved ones lost at Virginia Tech . I suppose I can begin to respect and understand this attempt at generosity. But to tell me I am going to be offered this sum to prevent my legal actions against the armed forces or educational institute just seems ludicrous. I don’t get it. Maybe I overreact.

As you know, Stew and I are no longer maritally involved. However, prior to his deployment last August, he informed me that he had still wanted to leave a portion of his blood money to me in the event of his demise.

My response: I would have to return it all to support the many wounded vets, as they need and deserve that money more than I.

Kate, I don't understand our world sometimes. I feel like it revolves too much over money rather than feelings. Riches equaling happiness? I cannot say that is a beat with which I can fall into step. Cousine, we live in a time of economic hardship. We live in a time of war. We live in a time of senseless killings both in our own country as well as regions halfway around the world.

We also live in a time where someone else must take the blame for any transgressions we must suffer. And sadly, we live in a time where we can bribe others to point fingers in different directions.

Finally, it makes me sad to hear of atrocious amounts of cash being offered to those so they will keep quiet and continue living their lives as if nothing has happened - especially when there are so many suffering, and we insist on turning blind eyes toward them.

It is like placing salt on a wound wanting to heal.

Paix, ma cousine,

Leigh

ab epistulis

I think all I can write are doozies....

Phew!

Time IS on Our Side

Feels like it's been five years in one

a lament

waxing introspective toward the end...sorry...

Fireworks

update

Adventure

Time

I lack useful advice

I think I’ve Become Obsessed with Food

the lining is quite silver.

"a letter to one's beloved [cousin] ought not to be kept back for any dimness of thought or feebleness of expression...

*annoyingly happy*

Shingles

thoughts provoked by a week with family

A Short Note as I am Moved to Respond

Some Coral Imagery for You

Home Sweet Home

Sometimes I wish people would go away so I can do everything my way.

Technological Soapbox

Epiphanies and my dislike of technology in the classroom.

An Optimistic Soap Box

Prioritizing Passion

Spinning Plates

Side Show in the Circus

"independence" has a price

Be Afraid, be Very Afraid

Some thoughts on family dynamics

Disappointment

I think too much sometimes

Tides of early (early) adulthood

These times

Sheepish because of her tardy response, yet eager to share...

Rain on my Parade

Broccoli

What to do, what to do...

Family

One year out

Anniversaries

Life in this bubble

Blood Money

annoyingly happy