Hey, Pop, I haven't heard from you in a couple of months and your lack of a phone makes it hard for me to keep in touch. So I'm dropping you a quick line in the mail today and hope it finds you well. Are you exercising, Pop, are you getting enough every day? How do you spend your days now that Mom is gone? And tell me, do you still manage to find time to go fishing? And those pamphlets-- the ones I sent you the last time. Could you find one Home you liked? Any would do, Pop. They all offer zoom service, so we could talk anytime. Listen, Pop. This one will be short. Both kiddos are down with the flu, and tonight's my turn to watch them. Do write back. I'm anxious to know which Home you prefer. Yours truly, Dan *** Hello, Daniel. Thanks for the letter, however brief. If by exercise you mean something besides milking Betsie, maintaining and working the small nursery, my answer is no. I'm afraid I'm not exercising enough. Except perhaps on those times when I walk next to Burro on our weekly trips into town to buy kerosene for the lantern. Fishing? Yes, I go to the stream now and then and never return home empty-handed. As for how I spend my days, dear son, I visit your mother's grave every day after the milking and live them well. I continue courting the blue moments — giving myself over to them and getting subsumed in the fullness of the fleeting moments. I've talked to you about this before, Daniel. The instances that come when you don't seek to measure their prominence by the pleasure or displeasure they contain but in how they merge you with it-- fill your spirit and warm your space. And all it requires of one is for you to live the life you have to the best of your capabilities. That's how I spend my days. As for those pamphlets you sent me — that's kind of you, my son. But Burro will not survive a day without me. Cannot leave him here after so much he's done for me. He's too old, you see. I'll pass on that zoom you talk about. I don't know what it is, but I know Burro, and I don't need it. A visit from you and your family would be pleasant. Come visit one more time when the kids are better. Until then, I'll continue to hold you close in the blue moment where I'll remain forever yours, here at home. Sincerely, your father. *** © 2021 selmamartin.com
Image by gigieffe from Pixabay
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Day 11, I’m still crazy about the prompts (optional) and interpreting them the best I could. For example, this prompt asks that we write a two-part poem in the form of an exchange of letters either to yourself or to a famous fictional or historical person.
I’m neither writing to myself nor a famous or historical figure. Instead, I’m writing it to a father from a son. I hope you enjoyed what I did here and that you pluck out something significant from it.
I appreciate you for reading, and as always, I wish you miracles and many blue moments.
Sincerely, Selma.
I’m a simple woman who dares to see the beauty in ordinary. I’d love to connect with you and like pen pals, I want something beautiful to blossom between us. Will you join me? Selma is my middle name. Its meaning—peaceful, complete, are euphoric affirmations I like to think of myself as having. They compliment the joy I feel when I write. I sincerely hope you decide to join me on my writing journey. I Wish You Miracles.
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