College letters in 5 easy steps…

An inquiring mind asked recently about the process behind my first few weeks of letters to Ellen once she bolted to college.  Specifically, what drove you to this end?

There was not a lot to it.  Literally, I swiveled my office chair to face my PC and fired up MS Word and wrote the letter.  Maybe it was pent up emotion or some other unknown driver, but the first few letters came out pretty easily.  In all honesty, I’m just not certain what the tipping point was that pushed me over the edge.

This is a post I thought about posting closer to July when pre-college pack-a-thons are in full swing.  But someone was nice enough to ask so I’ll answer.  I’ll no doubt revisit this topic.

I can see clearly now how parents of soon-to-be-college students might scratch their heads about the whys and hows of writing to their kids.  The miracle of hind sight has afforded me some school-of-hard-knocks experience.  If it were me, and I had to do it all over again (which I would), here are the five key points to make letters a relative breeze for parents:

1)  Set aside any doubts about your writing.  You don’t need to be an accomplished writer.  Tone and emotion will win the day for you.

2)  Don’t worry about embarrasment.  You’ve already embarrased yourself in front of your kid(s) in more ways that you can count.  The written page is a completely different genre.  Don’t worry about it.

3)  You have plenty to say.  More things happen to you in a single day than you can ever write about.  Keep a sticky note in your office, in the kitchen or by your nightstand or use some other means to jot down or track ideas worth a mention.  My suggestion: short paragraphs about multiple topics.

4)  Be assured that kids want contact.  To this day, if a letter does not arrive in Ellen or Reid’s mailbox, I hear about it at some point.  College is more than a lonely time.  It is when they begin to contrast their ordered upbringing vs. the brave new world they have encountered.  Just because their are off to school doesn’t mean they have turned a deaf ear to doings at home.

5)  Commit to the process.  Letters can be a one-off experience but I’d encourage you to take a long term view.  Put another way, you already call and text and email.  Insert letters into that mix.  You will find you like the process, and your college student will appreciate the news from home.

End of lecture.  Class dismissed. 

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It’s Monday, and here is last week’s letter to Ellen and Reid.

May 3, 2010

Ellen/Reid: Nature seemed to rear its head this weekend in a few different ways.  Walked the golf course yesterday with a couple of guys from work, and there were a lot of ponds and overgrown areas along the course.  Saw a couple of copperheads, the first I’ve seen in courses around Charlotte.  One was only about a foot or so long, the other was about three feet.  They were on the banks of a watering hole, probably to ambush the frogs which are out in abundance right now.  They say the little ones are more dangerous because their venom is more concentrated than in the larger snakes.  As I skirted a pond looking for a wayward golf ball, my shadow startled the little fish that clung to the shore; when they ventured deeper, the big fish lurking under the moss darted in to get their share of the bounty.  It was like that on pretty much all the water holes.  Kind of neat to see.  On the walk from my car to the office I have to go under some trees planted along the street, and there must have been some large gust of wind over the weekend because the sidewalk was strewn with lots of little birds blown from their nests.  Probably four or five.  Nature’s way, I guess.  The tomato plant continues to get bigger and it is setting fruit.  It’s only May.

Rode the Blue Ridge Parkway with Felicia on Saturday.  We stopped for coffee in a quaint little tourist spot called Blowing Rock which is the gateway to the Parkway.  Then it was on to Asheville which is about a 100 mile route along the southern exposure of the Parkway.  It’s quite the route.  Not very busy and while the ‘mountains’ aren’t the Rockies, it’s still very nice with really cool overlooks.  It was a hard ride because with the curves and such you really have to be on your toes.  The hills are overgrown with rhododendrons and other conifers.  It was a cold ride and wish I’d had more than the Harley vest to keep me warm.  There was the threat of rain but nothing materialized.  Grabbed a beer at a funky little joint in Asheville named Salsas.  It’s the second time I’ve been there and the food is incredible.  Best I’ve ever had in a Mexican cantina.  Asheville is a great spot; pretty laid back community of hippies which gives it a certain pizzazz. 

Had my own wardrobe malfunction last week, and of all days to have it occur, it was during the bank’s annual meeting.  I thought I would wear gray slacks and a blue blazer, only the gray pants turned out to be a blue tone which clashed with the blazer.  Didn’t realize this until I got out of the car in the parking lot.  Maybe the light in my closet needs to be stronger or else I need to start printing the color of the garment on hangers.  The lights in the meeting were low enough so I got by with the mistake.  At least no one mentioned it.

My writing course is solidified at the local community college, Central Piedmont Community College.  It will be for eight nights.  The students will be tortured for two hours each time, and for the life of me I am drawing an utter blank about what to say.  Most of the enrollees will be adults just looking for something to do.  Ostensibly, the course is on blogging but that’s merely code for pleasure writing.  There are no grades or anything like that although the students do grade the instructor.  FYI…this Friday will be my 50^th post since the end of January.  Not a ton of Web traffic, but enough to placate me. 

My 10“x10” plot of lettuce is providing all the greenery I can handle.  The square foot gardening method really works in that situation.  If all the seeds had taken hold, I could’ve fed the entire block with romaine.  The basil and parsley are really exploding onto the culinary scene.  Both are now large enough to clip with impunity.  The flowers along the railings are ready to blossom sometime this week.  They live on in spite of my attempts to neglect their well being.

A letter she will never read…

On Wednesday I mailed a letter to my mom.  With any luck it will arrive in time for Mother’s Day.

But she will never read it.  My father will perform that duty.  Owing to a series of minor strokes that have taken a cumulative toll on her cognitive skills and eyesight, she has read nothing that I’ve sent to the two of them these past few years.

My Mother’s Day note is increasingly tough for me to write.  As I compose, my composure weakens and erodes.  I’m not too proud to admit that as I struggle mightily to search for the right word or say just the right thing, there has been more than one tear, not just this year but last year and the year before that, that has had to be wiped away.

It is far easier for me to outline my feelings on paper vs. a conversation because the page allows an unbroken string of thoughts to pour out, thoughts that are harder to put into words when she and I are on the phone.  My dad can take his time to patiently read or re-read each sentence.  He probably interprets, with accuracy, what I managed to miscommunicate in poor phrases.  I wish I could be there in person to deliver the message.  What she receives each Mother’s Day is perhaps the single most important letter of the year for me and, hopefully, for her.  It is certainly the most difficult to write.

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Here are the last few year’s of Mother’s Day letters to Barbara.

May 5, 2010

Mom: It is hard to believe that there have been 60 of these Mother’s Days in a row for you and my brother and me.  For some odd reason I remember as a peanut going up to the drug store with a couple of bucks (no doubt dad gave me the money or maybe it was from my meager earnings delivery the Sun newspaper) to buy some frilly glass vase that was robin-egg blue.  I can see it as clearly now as the day I bought it all those years ago.  Not even sure if it was wrapped or not or if it was ever used but I also recall my hopes that perhaps it would be used by my mom.  Looking back now, it was clearly destined for a garage sale but when you’re seven or eight years old and on a mission to get something nice for your mother, a drug store vase seems like a big deal.

You know, I’ve been thinking about things a lot lately; your ailment, me here, you and dad there, and your other son just a little out West.  I wish the distance could be shortened up considerably but I suppose that is the way life fans out.  I need to see you, and dad, a lot more often.  I enjoy our calls a couple of times a week.  You sound good.

How in the world you (and dad) managed to do a better than pretty good job raising two knuckleheads in the face of the antics we pulled is beyond me.  We’ve turned out okay, and that’s a testament to you.  Not that we’re CEOs, brain surgeons or rocket scientists, but we’ve become pretty good people.  So are your grandchildren.  They’re just fine people.  That they are good kids is a testament that they come from good stock which is linked directly to you.  With any luck, your great-grandchildren will be, too.

We can’t know what the days ahead of us hold, but you have been holding your own as of late and that is what we can be grateful for.  We’ve all had better days but look at the good days we have had; there are too many to count.

I choose to look at Mother’s Day 2010 as a Thanksgiving Day of sorts.  I’m thankful that we are all still here, that we still talk, and that we share a laugh about the things worth a chuckle.  Your other son and I wouldn’t be where we are, and the people that we are, without you.  That’s what I’m really thankful for.

I love you.  Happy Mother’s Day!

 

May 6, 2009

Mom: Hey, it’s been one hell of a year thus far, but the optimist would say we still have seven good months ahead of us.  That’s how we all ought to be thinking about the current situation.  We have a lot of good time ahead of us.

My guess is that dad will be reading this note to you, and I wish I could be there in person to relate a hug and a kiss.  Your grandkids would no doubt wish the same thing.  It’ll have to wait for another time, hopefully sooner than later.  I’d like to be there to cook a meal or two, too because I know the old boy might not be keeping pace on that score.  Of all his skill sets, working around the kitchen might not be among them.

Sure, this has been a tough stretch, but it seems to me that none of it can replace the prior 59 years that my ‘bro and I have had with you and dad.  Those are the times that are really worth remembering.  We will always have those to fall back on.  If we always worry about ‘right now’ that’s all we will have; right now.  That’s not how I choose to look at the picture.

Mom’s day is an invention of the greeting card and floral industries, and it’s a pretty arbitrary date on the calendar, probably timed to coincide with the blooming of lilacs.  That’s just my guess.  But with all the TLC you’ve had in the past few weeks, you’ve had a string of mother’s days.  You’ll just need to ride out this current thing, and we’ll be with you every step of the way.  That’s how families work, and we will be there through thick and thin.  (If I keep eating and snacking like I do, the “thin” part may no longer apply.)

So I want you to keep your chin up, and while Ralphie and I may not be there every day to offer our love and encouragement, we are thinking about you and dad, and we want everyone to come through this with shining colors.  You’ve been a trouper through the first bunch of years, and right now is no time to deviate from that path.

We love you, mom.  Now’s the time to keep on keeping on as they used to say in the ‘60s.  Happy Mother’s Day.

 

May 8, 2007

Mom: I know there are tons of pretty, funny cards out there to be had, but they just don’t offer the same amount of space that this sort of page does.  The trade off is this isn’t nearly as good looking as the commercial varieties, but we’ll just have to live with it.

Geez, you’ve been my (and Ralphie’s, too) mom for 57+ years now.  And, hopefully, many more to come.

One thing about being down here, separated from you and dad and my ‘bro like I am, is that it gives plenty of time to reflect on the family life back in the Midwest.  I suppose there’s no getting around that you have been a pretty significant guidance factor in my life, although you’ve been precious little help on straightening out an increasing left-to-right golf game.

Those are the things I’ve tried to instill in Ellen and Reid, too, to the degree that it can be done.  That they’ve turned out (thus far) as well as they have is testament to the way you brought Ralph and I up.

I was at a book signing a couple of months ago by a Detroit writer, Mitch Albom.  He was the guy who wrote ‘Tuesdays with Morrie’, and now he’s got another short book out there.  The title is, I think, ‘For One More Day,’ or something close to that.

His point is that at some point we all let slip by the opportunities to say to loved ones what we should have said all along; I love you, I miss you, this is what you meant to me, etc.

So I won’t wait for either of us to read his book to set the record straight.  I do love you (and dad, too) for all the things you have meant to me along the way.  Even the frequent periods when I’ve stumbled and bumbled along the way, you guys have always been there when the going got tough, and when it wasn’t so tough as well.

Somehow the roadway is always littered with lame gifts – don’t expect golf balls this year, or next year, for that matter – so this letter will have to suffice for the time being.  But in the absence of the short drive to Omaha for one of your dinners (yeah, you’ll have to cook on Mother’s Day) I just wanted you to know that I’ll be there in spirit, just not in body.

I love you, mom.  Happy mother’s day.

One page legacies…

When my name is called to whatever occurs after this life, there are a few things I would like to leave to Ellen and Reid.

One is my grandmother’s cast iron skillet.  I use it nearly every day, and I remember, fondly, when Grandma would fry up (at the incessant urging of my brother and me) a batch of hamburgers and onions.  Then there are the assorted furnishings, the bike, my meager (and sometimes ill conceived) investments, my stash of spare coins, hopelessly out-of-date clothes and my precious cookware.  Really, there’s hardly anything for them to tussle over.

Then there is the pile of letters I have sent and they have received over the near decade.  To put some context to the pages, I rue the days when I did not pepper my grandparents for information about where they came from and what they did and how they lived.  Even more so, I rue that none of this invaluable family information was recorded and set aside for posterity.  As it is now, all I remember is what I recall.  My own parents have filled in some of the blanks.  But for a physical recording of our shared past, very little exists.

Perhaps that trove of pages will suffice as something of a loose-leaf family journal.  None stand out in and of themselves.  But it is the collection that might pull together the disparate pieces of my long running narrative.  I know for certain Reid does not hoard the letters although Ellen, according to her, has stowed the pages in a box somewhere in her belongings.

Some day my two will get all that I have.  Some of the remnants will have them scratching their heads about why their old man would bother to save this or that.  Just like my grandmother’s skillet, perhaps they will retain the family history on paper and leave the one page legacy for their own heirs to ponder, too.

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This is Way Back Wednesday, and you know what that means.

Nov. 6, 2006

EB/Reid: Most people drown in water, however, my choice is to be inundated in paper.  I have so much paper lying around on the floors, in the closets, on the tables that it just seems to be choking me.  Why in the world would I bring down so much paper and stuff in heavy, paper-laden boxes is just beyond me.  But I’m purging it, one &^%$# sheet at a time.

The final and – hopefully – last shipment of furniture is to arrive this afternoon.  It’s the coffee table, sofa table and another small dresser.  Geez, it seems to have just taken so long for all of this to come together.  Went to Home Depot yesterday to buy some big ceramic pots, big urns, basically, for the alcoves in the family room.  Got the DSL line hooked up last night – zipadeedoodah! – so mercifully I no longer have to tap into someone’s wireless network.  Not even sure how that worked but it did.  And, I’ve got a new home phone (704-xxx-xxxx) with free long distance and such.  So watch for numerous calls from Daddy-dearest.

Trying to become quite the cook.  I’m paying close attention to Rachael Raye’s 30 minute meal program, and it’s been fun.  When the food channel is your main go-to TV program, that’s trouble. Lots of sautéing of chicken, beef and pork with ‘taters and onions.  That’s eatin’.  Intended to experiment with oven cooked chicken covered in a light sauce of sautéed onions and diced tomatoes and garlic, but without a can opener the diced tomatoes and mushroom caps don’t do you a hell of a lot of good.  So, in a pinch, I opened a bottle of Ragu and topped the onion and garlic mixture with some mozzarella and parmesan.  Quite good, especially when I whipped up bruschetta with fresh basil, garlic, tomatoes on freshly baked French bread.  That’s good eatin’ II.

As for the weekend, didn’t do a whole lot.  Played golf Saturday at a course just over the border in South Carolina – the course has a marker where it shows when holes cross back over into North Carolina – and it was very nice.  There’s a lot of acceptable golf down here.  I seem to be having some rotator cuff problems in my right shoulder, not sure quite how that’s cropped up, and I think it’s to the point where I’ll have to do something about it.  It feel it every waking moment, although it’s not painful, it’s just there.  Went to a blues club Saturday night to hear a Southern, red-neck band, and they were okay.  I just have trouble with the ‘necks down here.

Tomorrow is election day, and we’ll see if the American people do the right thing or get what they deserve.  Down here, if I hear one more political ad espousing ‘North Carolina values’ I’ll puke.  They don’t cotton much to education or transportation or infrastructure or common sense down here, it’s all about ‘staying the course in Iraq’ and some such nonsense.  Welcome to my world.

Got tickets from Betsy ____ in my office to go see Mitch Albom (“The Five People You Meet in Heaven” author) at the downtown library.  That should be good.  Need to do more of this sort of stuff.  Haven’t gone to see the local NBA team as the tickets are bad and according to the local press, the players are lazy and think they’re better than they are.  May see the minor league hockey team.  Wouldn’t mind that.

So the transition continues apace in North Carolina.  You guys are going to have to make some trips down this way, especially when the weather is nice.  They had a story in the paper about how Charlotte’s snow plow crews went through training last week.  Yeah, right, snow plows in North Carolina.  What will they think of next?

Off to the races…

I have been a journalist but never a journaler.  I wish I’d been the latter in addition to the former.

It seems to me those who have journaled have a considerable leg up on anyone else who even considers the idea of mailing a letter now and again.  Journal-ists have developed a sense of style, an ingrained sense of organization and topical awareness.  Their transition from the Point A of a regular journal to Point B (letters) is relatively smooth sailing.  They’ve been there and done that.  They are off to the races.  We late bloomers should tip our collective hats to these ground-breakers because the rest of us wade through the letter writing landscape bereft of what others have already learned; we wend our way through the darkness of style, organization and topics before finding even a sliver of enlightenment.  Our ‘aha’ moment, if you will.

Of course, those who journal hone their skills in secret under a veil of privacy.  As a general rule, their thoughts and words are for their eyes only, and their sole hurdle is the idea of exposing their ideas to an audience, even an audience of one.

On the flip side, perhaps letters are a secondary form of journaling.  We chronicle ideas and thoughts and channel our creativity through the mails.  Perhaps that is how avowed letter writers should view their handiwork.  Still, I wish my path had followed the route of a journal before diverting itself down the road strewn with letters.  That tollway would’ve been slightly less bumpy.

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Here is last Monday’s letter to Ellen and Reid, save for a few for-their-eyes-only passages.

April 26, 2010

Ellen/Reid: There is an honest-to-Pete two vehicle garage again.  Save for a 10 foot mirror and glass from the defunct old shower doors, virtually all of the bathroom makeover stuff is gone.  The double sink counter top and toilet was donated to the Habitat Restore, and the rest of the debris has either been recycled or ditched.  Having a frumpy toilet sitting in the garage was particularly galling.  So now there is comfortable room for the car and the bike.  Being able to de-clutter feels good for a change.  I need to take the same vicious approach to my closet and rid it of clothes that saw their best and highest use in the days of disco.

The bathroom molding is all up and the cracks have been caulked.  A little sanding here and there and a minor coat of paint will be the finishing touches to a looonnnggg project.  Then you will be done hearing about it.  Who’d blame you if you turned a deaf ear?

Reid, I like the way you think at work.  Good for you to push the envelope.  An ad agency would be the one business that would seem to value someone pushing the envelope.  Your business is all about new ideas and fresh approaches.  There’s not much to be done about the scuffs that steal your ideas and front them as their own.  It’s a pretty harsh reality of business.  But the higher ups who invited you to an expansive meeting on your thoughts saw your thinking before the idea thieves stepped up.  Hopefully that will work in your favor.

Ellen, your shower for Amo sounded like a lot of fun.  It had to be a relief to have furniture and rugs and stuff before the girls showed up.  I’ll bet Amo’s baby was never away from being cradled in someone’s arms.  Where was Henry during the party?  Surely you couldn’t have him tromping around.  He’s a miniature horse.  I like the idea of you going back to the property company full time.  Keep at the education thing and it will come.  I just wish I knew the right buttons to push to make your teaching dream occur.  But I don’t.

The azaleas are in full bloom right now.  It’s quite a sight.  Pink and coral and white and red.  For some reason I think there is a robin egg blue varietal, too, although perhaps that is a figment of my over active imagination.  To be honest about it, once the floral blooms are gone the bushes are kind of scruffy and dog-eared.

You need to help me understand why perfectly sane people bring armloads of dirty laundry to work.  I mean, when you see someone in a suit, or a nice work dress, lugging who knows how many shirts or blouses in a jumbled pile, it just looks kind of weird.  There are several cleaners in very close to my office and I know it is completely for convenience sake of those who tote the dirty goods, but it just seems odd to me.

In another example of society going too far, there was an article in the paper last week about how “experts” are telling dog owners not to give their dogs real bones.  Heaven forbid the bones could damage gums and cause bad breath or get caught in their throats, but for crying out loud, dogs are carnivores and have eaten bones and whatever is attached to bones since time immemorial.  This is what they eat and have eaten.  This is completely nut-so.  Even Scooter liked a little ham bone now and again.  It’s what a dog does.  They chew and gnaw.  We need to get a grip.

Well, that’s a wrap.  I’ll be available to take calls later this week, so don’t be strangers.  And don’t forget – Reid – to send your mom a card or letter before May 9.  That’s Mother’s Day.