Oh my goodness, how precious mother looks in that photo with the P51! We should set up a rule for this blog: no one can post any photos unless at least one of them has one of our lovely parents in it.
Writing is hard. In this day, we write out of necessity--not out of pleasure. When we write our thoughts down, who would it benefit? Ideally, it would benefit everyone. But does anyone really take the time to consider? When we get especially philosophic, I'm afraid we get impatient and skim until we "get to the point." The journey
is the point. We have to follow the process or else we cannot especially appreciate the outcome. I feel like this is how I get in conversation. I think, "Let me explain to you every particular so that when we both arrive at the conclusion, we can marvel at such a conclusion. Otherwise, there is nothing particularly striking about it." But people lose focus. Somewhere along the line, eyes divert, minds wander, and people grow impatient. Let me be frank: If you cannot travel the road with me in my thoughts, there's no point in me telling you much. You just won't appreciate it.
Writing letters is even more uncommon. It's becoming a lost art--mostly because there seems to be no point. Think of our "family home evening" letters: they sometimes end with the phrase "though you will have heard all of this by the time that you receive this letter. Why send a letter when you're just going to talk to someone on the phone? All of that information will have already been thoroughly canvassed. It would seem that letters are a waste of time.
But I love them. Apart from being happy to receive some mail that isn't a bill, it's so personal. It can be read and reread with more joy than an email. You can keep the letter in your pocket for comfort and happiness--a kind of talisman for protection against loneliness and negativity. Rereading the letter can provide momentary respite from the stress of separation. And writing a letter gives opportunity to reflect. We can better define our own feelings and come to terms with our lives. We move so fast these days that every feeling, thought, and interest becomes pooled in amoebic ambiguity. Nothing can be appreciated, acted upon, or changed because it's just one big mess that we don't like to deal with. Writing, when appropriately practiced, is a release.
I write most of this diatribe for myself, as I often lose interest in writing, whether it be a blog post, a letter, or a journal entry. I get tired of writing because of my own expectations.
So, what am I doing lately? Since I have no homework to fill in the gaps of time at work, I'm practicing my handwriting. Sounds boring to all of you, huh? It would to me as well, were it not for the pain in my wrist. Tension is killing my right wrist, and I need to rework my method of using it for the purpose of longevity.
Apparently, most people who learned handwriting after 1955 or 1960 has learned the wrong way. We draw out the letters with our fingers. This causes overuse and misuse of the tendons that power our fingers. Inflammation and pain is the result. So what are we
supposed to be doing? We should have been using the muscles in our arm and shoulder. Those muscles can work for a long time without pain and fatigue. Have you ever had writer's cramp? It's because you used your smaller muscles rather than your larger ones. Before computers and typewriters, people wrote everything by hand (we're talking about everything pre-20th Ct.). Because one had to write so much and be able to write it without getting tired, they wrote with their arm and shoulder.
And so, my handwriting now looks like a jock's handwriting--very scratchy and illegible. But, my wrist feels great! Other than being frustrated because my letterforms are indiscernible, this method of writing provides no discomfort at all, and I am excited for the opportunity to improve myself in such a small way--a way that will help me be able to do the things I enjoy for longer periods. The only fatigue that will require me to take a break will be mental.
I got the most amazing grade in bookbinding. 100. The only perfect score for a college class that I have ever received. I'm proud of myself, most especially because I taught myself all of the new methods I learned this time around. While everyone else in the class learned the basics of bookbinding for the first time, I was given the opportunity to write my own syllabus, to choose my own projects. Well, I had some idea of the techniques required for working with leather, but I had never tried them as they require special tools. I bought the tools, I bought the leather, and I spend some substantial portion of the semester researching leather pairing, sewing on cords, and constructing a true "library" style binding. The results of my work were better than I could have hoped for. I'll photograph them this afternoon so that I can post the photos for you all to see.
I love you all. And those that don't keep up with the family blog can all go to hell! (Just kidding, of course.) And don't be upset if I copy and paste some of this for my own blog. Just know that you all got it first.
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