I just had an email from my son. I have been very, very, VERY lonely of late, kinda particularly during about the last couple of months and since I rarely hear anything from any of my family anymore, I wrote him a sad little letter about my feelings. Mistake. He simply said I had lots of friends... and even a blog, so I must have lotsa friends because of that. What a laugh... this is my little letter to myself... no one else ever sees it or reads it. I have like two or three comments... all from my oldest nephew, who apparently does read it once in awhile. He's the ONLY one. I guess I only write it because I don't have any Kirkie to write to anymore... he won't answer, so why write. So I write to myself about little things like the fact that my kids are strangers now... my own fault, as they both remind me interminably... you wanted to go to CA, where we will never go, as we hate it and it is a long way away. So, just sit back, Peggy and enjoy the nice cool weather, with a couple of warm days every now and then... in a beautiful, breezy place where you can breathe without an inhaler, never have another attack of asthma... wear the same kind of clothes all year long... never have a coat, unless maybe a rain coat if it ever starts raining again... and go out and sit and have lunch in the garden with Gloria once in awhile. I miss Bud and Al... and Al Bear and Jane and all the other Fromm people... and reading to each other... and the poets and all the people who have disappeared to die on me. Even the dear little girl who handled all the business at the 3-Day Novel writing contest has moved on to another job.... Melissa. Amazing, I can still remember some names... although that was always my worst problem... I wonder if it was because my mother could remember everyone's name... was I just reacting against that? Some names are engraved on my brain... I will never forget Leo Burnett, as I loved him so much... or Ned Travis, the same... but about half the people I worked with/for have disappeared from my memory... except in little snatches when something reminds me of them. A bell ring, a taste of pizza, a whiff of perfume... and back they all come... good lord, I have known so many people... and until the last couple of years, I could remember about half of them... but they are all fading out without the reminders. What was the name of that secretary who worked for that dreadful man who thought up 'great books' who used to douse herself in perfume before she went home? Marshall hated that as much as I did and wanted me to tell her... I told him to do it himself and he was furious about that. I do wish I could remember all of them... but what does it matter now, except that if I get back to my writing about them, it would help if I could remember their names.
Enough, enough, Peg... you have nattered along enough for tonight... take your damned pills, go to the john and go to bed. I do hope I have enough kitty food for Sunday... Ana can run over on Monday and get more... she felt she should get some... she knows better how much Sylvia can eat... and Sylvia has been eating like a horse again... both kinds of food. Wow... I have a weird cramping of my left hand... it pulls my fingers apart into a Vulcan salute... so strange, as it is now hard to do that with my right hand. God, why must I get old.... why can't I just die like everyone else?
Gosh Peggy, your writing has not lost any of its poetry/evocative power. And I guess you have tapped into the current issues in your life pretty well. Have you tried Facebook? I find a good outlet/interesting group of acquaintances there. Just sharing things I find interesting. Anyhow you may be able to force yourself out in the world to get those smells going stronger, you are right, they are so important to memory.
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