tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4843298373720744612023-11-16T10:38:05.196-06:00The Letter JarLynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-43154752100839496472011-07-11T10:00:00.022-05:002011-07-17T21:39:29.559-05:00Monday Letter Lore: "I Dont Know What Art is All About"<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CKQmgEFowQDKmQLLy4-n74VkLx_MNdrR_3avfYWlujFMtXNPlfYU2aYDa0Rg0M1Fey2d0KDfVvhwlodDgZriPlfd61_gw5gtM7YYxbxh1U4EV9op4ptg5p5iB2cj8OscG5qDZIoqagA4/s1600/479px-Georgia-O%2527Keeffe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CKQmgEFowQDKmQLLy4-n74VkLx_MNdrR_3avfYWlujFMtXNPlfYU2aYDa0Rg0M1Fey2d0KDfVvhwlodDgZriPlfd61_gw5gtM7YYxbxh1U4EV9op4ptg5p5iB2cj8OscG5qDZIoqagA4/s320/479px-Georgia-O%2527Keeffe.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Georgia O'Keeffe, 1918</b></td></tr>
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There are careers, and there are passions, and then there are the friends who help you sort them out. <br />
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I've been told I'm very good, and I'm fairly compensated, in my career in non-profit member communications. And while I do like my job, I can't say I love it.<br />
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What I love is handwriting letters to friends and family and endeavoring to inspire others to do the same. These activities are my passion, but I often do wonder, am I really any good at them? (The inspiration part, I guess. I'm willing to believe that I'm pretty good at writing letters.)<br />
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I felt a little bit better about my self-doubt when I read the subject of this week's Monday Letter Lore, a letter from
legendary artist Georgia O'Keeffe to a friend in New York. (This letter is yet another from the simply extraordinary <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Letters-Century-1900-1999-Lisa-Grunwald/dp/0385315937/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1303180081&sr=1-1">America 1900-1999: Letters of the Century</a>.)<br />
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At the time O'Keeffe had spent several week in her beloved New Mexico, the new home that inspired some of her most amazing work. In the letter she recounts reading an art book--one that features a profile of her and is the lone piece of printed material she has brought along:<br />
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<i>July 31, 1931 </i><br />
<br />
<i>I dont know what it is all about. I look through the rest of</i> <i>the book and decide that frankly--I dont know what Art is all about--</i><br />
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Georgia O'Keeffe didn't think she knew what art was all about. Georgia O'Keeffe--one of America's most important modern artists and a celebrated cultural icon--doubted she knew what <i>ART </i>was all about.<i> </i><br />
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Reading her words, I realized two things:<br />
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<ol>
<li>I ought not let my worries about whether I excel at my passion keep me from pursuing it.</li>
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<li>How precious is the person or people in our lives to whom we can admit anything, even the seemingly self-incriminating.</li>
</ol>
For me, one of those precious people is a bestselling author friend. As I have struggled to establish my own writing career, she has encouraged me, serendipitously put me in touch with people who could help, and most of all served as a role model for never losing sight of your true passion, no matter what other accomplishments you accumulate along the way. (She was a successful interior designer before becoming a multimillion-dollar selling author.)<br />
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My friend once said to me that I have this dream--to write with the intent of helping save the art of handwritten correspondence--because it is attainable. I'm not dreaming about being an astronaut, or a supermodel, or a Supreme Court justice. I'm dreaming about something that is within my abilities to achieve. I took the opportunity of a letter to thank her for those special words, which have pulled me through many of my own "I don't know Art is all about" moments:<br />
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<div style="color: #cc0000;">
<i>You're right--I had the dream because I'm supposed to fulfill it. So, so amazing ... thanks for being a reason to believe that dreams can come true, that dignity, class, dedication and faith will prevail and the universe is listening more closely and actively than we know.</i></div>
<div style="color: #cc0000;">
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<b><i> </i></b><br />
When I've pondered my life's work--What it should be? How can I do it? Do I really know how to do it?--there have been seemingly endless resources to help me sort it out. Life coaches, websites, seminars and books have all helped, but nothing can replace the words of a friend who knows me and knows what I'm trying to achieve, and has spotted at the end of the tunnel the light I thought had long since been extinguished.<br />
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I'm reminded, too, that inasmuch as my friend was my cheerleader, I may wittingly, or unwittingly, play the same role for someone else in my life. It is a privilege and an honor I can't take lightly.<br />
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Write on.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: #38761d;">DID YOU KNOW <i>LETTERS & JOURNALS</i> MAGAZINE HAS A FACEBOOK PAGE? </b>If you're like me and can't get enough of lovely stationery and journals, you'll want to <a href="http://www.facebook.com/lettersandjournals">become a fan</a> and watch for the regular, lust-inducing giveaways offered along with news and curiosities from the world of handwritten correspondence.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-9334644382185449502011-07-08T10:00:00.003-05:002011-07-08T10:00:10.897-05:00Precious Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lately, far more often than I'd like to admit, I've found myself thinking, "I don't have time to write a letter today," or "I'll write tomorrow" or "Maybe I'll find time this weekend."<br />
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It's not that life hasn't indeed been busy. A family member was recently hospitalized. My toddler--despite being on the run and up the walls and down the stairs all day long--never seems to get tired. Expanded responsibilities and new technologies challenge me at my job.<br />
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No, it's not that extra time and energy aren't scarce. Rather, it's the conclusions I draw about that reality--that somehow, using some of my precious minutes to write a letter is either too relaxing (shouldn't I be cleaning the refrigerator instead?) or not relaxing enough (why not just unwind with some channel surfing and chardonnay?)<br />
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But when I do compose a note, as I did recently to my friend L from college, I am reminded that letter writing offers both discipline and release. Sure, putting pen to paper is a mental exercise requiring a bit more time and physical labor than texting, but, done right, it's a spiritual practice too. I suppose some letters for some people are a blood pressure-raising experience, but I have chosen to devote none of mine to settling scores with adversaries or hashing out bygone dramas with estranged relatives. Instead, my letters to friends and family reminisce on shared good times, recall old jokes and recognize how enriched I am by the blessings my relationships have bestowed. Like I told L:<br />
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<i style="color: #990000;">I am so glad we have kept in touch through our Christmas cards. I look forward every year to your letter--I so enjoy hearing about your travels and your charity work, and I am so inspired by your sense of adventure and optimism.</i><br />
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It's when I'm most busy, my days filled with opportunities and obligations, that I most need a practice that encourages me to slow down, be thankful and think abundantly. While letter writing can seemingly threaten to leave me with <i>less</i> precious time, in the end it helps to make <i>more </i>of<i> </i>my time precious.<br />
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Write on.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">MUCH MORE THAN COOKIES</span></b>: More than a dozen women who were Girl Scouts together almost 40 years ago have <a href="http://bit.ly/nMQK2j%20">kept their friendships strong</a>. I am inspired, and a little nostalgic for our my own fond memories of Camp Wood E Lo Hi.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-54038666226003436082011-06-21T09:00:00.002-05:002011-06-21T09:00:04.047-05:00No Two Alike<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the past month I've been to two communications conferences where the focus has been, not surprisingly, on all things digital. So much content for us to consume--websites, wikis, blogs and social networks. A next big thing called content curation.<br />
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And so many ways to consume --smartphones, tablets, Internet TV, to say nothing of those antiques, the laptop and desktop PC.<br />
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It's all so simple. And so fast. Talking to so many people, in so little time.<br />
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It was enough to make a girl say, "Tell me again why I'm handwriting letters?"<br />
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Fair question. But here's the thing: for all the things electronic communication can do, there are some things it can't:<br />
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<b>Create a tangible connection. </b>When I receive a handwritten letter in the mail, I know that the sender touched that same piece of paper. No matter how many thousands of miles I erase when Facebooking with my friend in Japan, I still can't create that same intimacy.<br />
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<b>Leave something valuable behind.</b> Yes, emails can be printed and saved. But how many are? And when an email is printed, in that Times New Roman or Courier font, on that run-of-the-mill (literally) white printer paper, how personal does it seem? At a glance, does that letter look any different than the water bill? A stack of letters saved in a box looks like a piece of history. A stack of emails printed out looks like, well, a stack of printouts.<br />
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A handwritten letter is a <b>representation of the sender</b>, with all of his or her <b>idiosyncrasies</b> and <b>eccentricities</b>. The paper. The handwriting. The color of the pen. The straight, or decidedly not straight, lines. Drawings in the margin. The postscript(s).<br />
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Case in point: I recently received a letter from T, a public defender. When I was learning the ropes as a newspaper reporter he was my nemesis; when I earned his trust he was a valued source; now I'm proud to call him a friend. I wrote to thank him for all he taught me. His response noted, in part, that he'd shown my letter (which he described as "a pretty large rock thrown into the tranquil pond of my cognition") to another reporter "I done went and scared/offended/pissed off at the courthouse."<br />
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T could have typed all that in an email, and I would have still smiled at the sentiment. But somehow the words weighed more written on the nice stationery, in that same tall, skinny scrawl I remember from all those court filings. I knew T didn't start and stop and delete and spellcheck--it was one time through, no rehearsals, from the heart.<br />
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And that's the thing about handwritten letters--and the snowflakes that illustrate this post--no two are alike. Because no two of us are alike. A letter is uniquely personal, someone's blood, sweat and ink. The product of his or her hand, to be held in yours.<br />
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Write on.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">HANDWRITING IS GOOD FOR YOU? </span></b>Believe it. A <a href="http://www.latimes.com/health/sc-health-0615-child-health-handwriti20110615,0,6747963.story">recent <i>Los Angeles Times </i>article</a> notes that "Emerging research shows that handwriting increases brain activity, hones
fine motor skills, and can predict a child's academic success in ways
that keyboarding can't."Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-19799250778506105052011-04-19T09:00:00.003-05:002011-04-19T15:52:04.177-05:00Monday Letter Lore: "Unpack"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today's letter, a reminder that not all letters need be lengthy, comes courtesy of one of my favorite new books: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Letters-Century-1900-1999-Lisa-Grunwald/dp/0385315937/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1303180081&sr=1-1">America 1900-1999: Letters of the Century</a>. Hundreds of the letters by the famous, the infamous and the unknown. When a letter writer stops to read, and her mailbox is empty, this is what she picks up.<br />
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After disproving the predictions to win the White House -- and holding high the erroneous <i>Chicago Tribune </i>proclaiming Dewey's victory for the now iconic photo -- President Harry S. Truman received this short and sweet letter from his friend, comedian Bob Hope:<br />
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<i>November 3, 1948</i><br />
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<i>President Harry Truman</i><br />
<i>The White House</i><br />
<i>Washington, D.C.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i>Unpack.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Bob Hope </i><br />
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Some of my letters have been <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/08/in-short.html">brief</a> (though Mr. Hope, naturally, was far more successful at finding the wit that Shakespeare so lovingly associated with brevity) but others seemed to march toward some mysterious <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/when-flow-turns-to-overflow.html">word limit that must be reached</a> in order for a letter to have meaning. I can definitely think of times when I've rambled on needlessly, times when shorter indeed would have been sweeter.<br />
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So while I've certainly had opportunities to write one -- or two or three or seventy-seven -- word fewer, could I ever express myself with just one word? An interesting proposition indeed; what might it be? "Thanks"? "Sorry"? "Help"?<br />
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Write on. <br />
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<b><span style="color: #38761d;">ONE-WORD WISDOM:</span></b> To discover what can really be done with one word, check out my friend's blog, <a href="http://words-jen.blogspot.com%20/">Words.JenVisser.com</a>. Jen has cleverly surmounted writer's block by sending cards to friends, asking them for words to use as writing prompts. Just as fun as reading what's she produced so far is perusing the "word list" and seeing what's to come!Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-18403807097577540442011-03-28T23:00:00.000-05:002011-03-28T23:00:58.314-05:00Monday Letter Lore: "A Quarter Century's Worth of Thanks"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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If The Letter Jar project has had one consistent theme, it's <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/search/label/gratitude">gratitude</a>. At times it has seemed there are as many reasons to be grateful as there are names in the jar (a wonderful situation indeed). I've thanked:<br />
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*A <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/job-well-appreciated.html">former employee</a> for his dedication and creativity<br />
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*A <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/07/happy-anachronism.html">one-time presidential candidate</a> for treating me with respect when I interviewed him as a cub reporter<br />
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*My son's daycare teacher for her extraordinary support and skill<br />
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*The <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/07/upping-my-game.html">public defender </a>who made me a better reporter<br />
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I've thanked an airline customer service agent who made a difference for me at a crucial moment, favorite musicians for sharing their gifts. Old flames for teaching me how to have fun. My parents for raising me well.<br />
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The dozens of thank yous I've penned have humbled me -- I've wondered at times how an average gal like me gets so lucky and deserves such riches. However the letter below, discovered through the truly amazing <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/">Letters of Note </a>website, shows that not even the most "un-average" among us are above acknowledging help. Here, on the 25th anniversary of the lunar landing, the first man on the moon thanks the makers of his "EMU," or Extravehicular Mobility Unit:<br />
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<i>To the EMU gang:<br /><br />I remember noting a quarter century or so ago that an emu was a 6 foot Australian flightless bird. I thought that got most of it right.<br /><br />It turned out to be one of the most widely photographed spacecraft in history. That was no doubt due to the fact that it was so photogenic. Equally responsible for its success was its characteristic of hiding from view its ugly occupant.<br /><br />Its true beauty, however, was that it worked. It was tough, reliable and almost cuddly.<br /><br />To all of you who made it all that it was, I send a quarter century's worth of thanks and congratulations.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br /><br />Neil A. Armstrong</i><br /><br />The perfect thank you -- humble, heartfelt and even a little humorous (the "almost cuddly" EMU?) Who doesn't have someone to thank for working for us, for giving us a lift when we needed it, for a boost in our critical hour?<br />
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Write on.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-62011022006415966972011-03-15T08:15:00.000-05:002011-03-15T08:15:57.208-05:00Monday Letter Lore: "In the end you are sure to succeed"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today marks the debut Monday Letter Lore, a weekly offering of memorable letters in history as fodder for our imaginations, grist for our mills.<br />
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At times throughout The Letter Jar I have found myself writing a letter of encouragement -- to a friend or and family member facing illness or infertility, even simple indecision. While I sometimes struggle with what to say, I always feel better stumbling over a few well-intentioned words than saying nothing at all. I know that when I am hurting, it makes a difference when someone tells me they're thinking of me. And while any comfort through any medium is welcome, there is a special feeling that comes from knowing someone took the time to pen a note and find a stamp and a mailbox.<br />
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For George Latham, a friend of one of Abraham Lincoln's sons, that someone was the would-be president himself. While Lincoln probably didn't have to find the stamp or mailbox himself, and indeed didn't have the option of firing off a quick text instead, it is nonetheless remarkable that he, while campaigning for president in July 1860, reached out to George after learning that the young man had been unable to get into Harvard.<br />
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<i>My dear George<br /><br />I have scarcely felt greater pain in my life than on learning yesterday from Bob's letter, that you failed to enter Harvard University. And yet there is very little in it, if you will allow no feeling of discouragement to seize, and prey upon you. It is a certain truth, that you can enter, and graduate in, Harvard University; and having made the attempt, you must succeed in it. "Must" is the word.<br /><br />I know not how to aid you, save in the assurance of one of mature age, and much severe experience, that you can not fail, if you resolutely determine, that you will not.<br /><br />The President of the institution, can scarcely be other than a kind man; and doubtless he would grant you an interview, and point out the readiest way to remove, or overcome, the obstacles which have thwarted you.<br /><br />In your temporary failure there is no evidence that you may not yet be a better scholar, and a more successful man in the great struggle of life, than many others, who have entered college more easily.<br /><br />Again I say let no feeling of discouragement prey upon you, and in the end you are sure to succeed.<br /><br />With more than a common interest I subscribe myself Very truly your friend,<br /><br />A. Lincoln.</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Special thanks to <a href="http://abrahamlincolnonline.org/">abrahamlincolnonline.org</a> for the text of the letter. Check it out for much more history of and wisdom from our 16th president.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">"... In the end you are sure to succeed." Words with power, whether uttered by one of our most famous American statesmen to a family friend, or just you or me to someone near to our hearts.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Write on.</span><br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">STILL TIME TO ENTER LAST WEEK'S MIDWEEK MOTIVATION</span></b>: I've started my letter to S, my running companion and confidante. To whom are you writing to this week, and why? <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/winner-week-1.html">Comment </a>through tomorrow for a chance to win a set of notecards from the <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/chewytulip">chewytulip</a> etsy shop.<br />
<br />Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-24893184193976836722011-03-09T21:47:00.000-06:002011-03-09T21:47:04.146-06:00Winner, Week 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Congratulations to <b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">"chewytulip,"</span></b> an artist and <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/chewytulip?ref=top_trail">etsy shop proprietor</a> who is the first randomly chosen winner after leaving a lovely comment in response to last week's Letter Jar Challenge:<br />
<br />
<i>I used to make postcards regularly and send them to my grandfather. The cards would be bright, colorful,and weird. He didn't ever say much, but he displayed them all on his coffee table. :)</i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i><br /></i>What a wonderful memory! Indeed, displaying your postcards "said" more than words could convey.<br />
<br />
Thanks also to LisavVi and Karen for your comments. I appreciate your interest in The Letter Jar project!<br />
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As for me, I've been sick enough that rest has taken priority over writing, so no letter to report this week. However, I certainly wasn't going to let Wednesday pass without picking my first winner and issuing a new Midweek Motivation (that makes two letters for me this week):<br />
<br />
I've pulled from the The Letter Jar the name of S, whom <b style="color: #38761d;"><span style="color: #6aa84f;">I met while training for a half-marathon</span> </b>six years ago. I'm friends with S on Facebook, but have never really expressed how much her companionship during those training runs meant to me. Of course we cheered each other on, but we also just talked (being able to keep up somewhat of a conversation, of course, being a way to keep overexertion in check). And what I ended up talking about with S was my dissolving marriage -- I wasn't ready to talk to the friends and family who had attended my wedding, but this new, neutral friend was a sounding board and confidante whom I'm never forgotten. I look forward to thanking S for all she did for me, more than I'm sure she ever knew, just by listening.<br />
<br />
Do you know <b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">someone who seemed to appear in your life just when you needed him or her</span></b>, someone you've been meaning to thank for their help, their friendship, their contribution?<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">THIS WEEK'S PRIZE</span></b> comes courtesy of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/chewytulip">chewytulip's etsy shop</a> full of fun, original postcards and lettersets, as well as animal magnets, paintings, scarves and a line of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/chewytulip?section_id=7538294">pickle-themed schwag</a>. I'll be ordering a set of <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/58305716/orange-owl-mini-note-card-set-hand">owl notecards</a> for myself, and this week's winner will also be treated to a set of chewytulip notecards that strike his or her fancy.<br />
<br />
Write on!Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-39735848447282838202011-03-02T22:47:00.000-06:002011-03-02T22:47:17.988-06:00Introducing The Letter Jar Challenge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've discovered the answer to the question I posed in my <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2011/02/now-what-do-i-do.html">last blog post</a> -- now that I've spent a year writing letters, what do I do next?<br />
<br />
Of course. I'm going to encourage others to join me.<br />
<br />
In the letters I have written to family, friends, old coworkers, teachers and all order of long lost mentors and pals over the last year, I've referred to The Letter Jar project as "one woman's crusade to save the dying art of the handwritten letter."<br />
<br />
But must it really be the crusade of just "one woman?" Surely there must be others like me and my friend T, who in a recent letter back to me referred to himself as a "post-Luddite -- one who eschews technology and is yet high tech." In fact, I know there are others like us -- letter-writing bloggers like <a href="http://www.missivemaven.com/">The Missive Maven</a> and Jackie from <a href="http://lettersandjournals.com/">Letters and Journals</a>.<br />
<br />
And who else? That's what I hope to find out.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #6aa84f;">
<b>Let's start a letter-writing movement.</b></div>
<div style="color: #6aa84f;">
<b><br /></b></div>
Let's put down the iPhones, if even for a moment, and pick up our pens.<br />
<br />
Let's write to our mothers, our dear friends, our old teachers and bosses.<br />
<br />
Let's tell them what we remember about them, how much they mean to us, what we learned from them.<br />
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Let's be brief and witty or long-winded and soulful.<br />
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Let's write on our best lined paper or that stationery with frogs on it, that we just couldn't ever find a use for.<br />
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Let's express our thoughts in handwritten waves, seal them up in envelopes and send them on fantastic voyages.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: #6aa84f;">Then, let's talk about it here. </b>You don't have to name names, or reveal exactly what you wrote. But how does the person to whom you wrote fit into your life? How did writing the letter feel? Were you thankful or joyful or wistful or pensive? Why did you choose who you did? Why -- or why not -- do you think you'll hear back?<br />
<br />
Any good challenge needs a worthy <b style="color: #6aa84f;">prize</b>. Let's kick off our first week with something every letter-writer can use: postage. From all the comments I receive through next Tuesday, March 8, about the letters being written -- and the people writing them -- I'll choose someone at random to receive a book of first-class stamps.<br />
<br />
With further ado, let me issue the inaugural Midweek Motivation. I'm pulling a name from The Letter Jar and it is ... B, a former <b style="color: #6aa84f;">work colleague </b>who was not only a good collaborator, but also a friend who still inspires me to be my best professionally and personally.<br />
<br />
Who is a current or former coworker who has had an impact on your life? Have you ever expressed just how that person influenced you? What might you say to thank him or her?<br />
<br />
Write on!<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">ALREADY DONE? WANT TO WRITE SOME MORE? </span></b>Then check out the love letter contest that author Kristina McMorris is sponsoring to promote her debut novel, <i>Letters From Home</i>. Her prize is a WWII memory box full of gorgeous stationery, a fleur-de-lis wax seal and nostalgic goodies. Contest ends March 31 -- get the details <a href="http://www.kristinamcmorris.com/home.php?pg=extras">here</a>. <i>Letters From Home</i> comes to bookstores this month.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-5636660213976818382011-02-15T07:53:00.000-06:002011-02-15T07:53:47.663-06:00Now What Do I Do?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Day 365 passed, without fanfare, on Sunday.<br />
<br />
In a year, I wrote <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/p/to-whom-have-i-written.html">221 letters</a> -- impressive in some ways, yes, but still well short of the 365 I had envisioned.<br />
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There are a couple big reasons why I didn't meet my "letter a day" goal:<br />
<br />
1) My letters turned out to be actual "letters," not "notes." Some were as long as 8 pages, the average was probably 5. Such an undertaking just wasn't possible on some days, and it never felt right to shortchange a recipient by saying less than what was on my mind.<br />
<br />
2) "Those days" when letter-writing went to the back burner, bubbling away in the front were things like childcare, housekeeping and my day job. I suspected from the beginning that fitting such a project into my busy schedule would be tough, and it was. But so rich were the rewards of letter-writing that I persisted even after dry spells and letters that took days to write.<br />
<br />
So now what do I do? Write the last 144 letters, and celebrate completion of my project on maybe day 525, versus 365? Or just give up?<br />
<br />
Who am I kidding? There is no way I'm throwing in the towel (or pen, as the case may be). "A letter a day" might have been a glorious goal, but it was also one that turned out to be just beyond my reach. That's OK, because throughout the pursuit, I've been enlightened, amused, humbled, empowered and simply reminded time and again of how terribly, terribly lucky I am -- lucky enough, indeed, to have 144 more people to thank for touching my life.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">HOW DID I MISS THIS?</span></b> Not that trying to finish The Letter Jar project will likely leave me much time for reading, but I still must get my hands on "<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Letters-Century-1900-1999-Lisa-Grunwald/dp/0385315937/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1297777449&sr=1-2">Letters of the Century</a>." This 2008 release "comprises 423 letters that are by turns intimate, bureaucratic,
officious and epoch-defining ... the letters offer
remarkable glimpses of various facets of American life." I can't wait to see for myself.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-46058148359815646872011-01-27T22:46:00.001-06:002011-01-27T22:49:28.254-06:00Lucky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I always heard as a child -- and slowly have come to believe as an adult -- that everything happens for a reason.<br />
<br />
It would seem the Letter Jar and the responses it attracts are no exception.<br />
<br />
Recently I wrote to my friend M, a graphic designer whom I met while working at a community college in New Mexico. I told her how much I admire not only her creativity but also her openness, inquisitiveness and energy.<br />
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<div style="color: #990000;">
<i>You approach life with the attitude that there is always something new to learn, always a way to expand your horizons and your understanding. That kind of living is unique and refreshing and something I aspire to ... you're not afraid to test your own limits and I think that's very, very awesome.</i></div>
<br />
I should have known that news of M's latest exploits -- which she recounted briefly in an e-mail after receiving my letter -- would serve as a well-timed, much needed boost when I was weary in the pursuit of my own passions. Turns out M recently quit her job as a designer and is one month away from a degree in massage therapy, an achievement she'll follow by moving to Idaho to train as a Kung Fu instructor. Ultimately she'll move back to New Mexico to open a studio where she'll offer -- you guessed it -- massage therapy and Kung Fu lessons.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: purple;">
<i>I decided sometime at the beginning of last year that I needed to change
something in my life. I was feeling very unhappy at [the community college] and it was more
because I needed a change ... I'll do massage therapy during the day and Kung Fu at night. Sounds dreamy! Doesn't it?</i></div>
<br />
<br />
Were it anyone else, the whole dream might seem odd. But I
know M and I know that one day I'll be visiting her highly successful
studio -- when she sets her mind to something, she doesn't let up. I call her unique brand of ambition "ferocity and focus."<br />
<br />
And what do I call the fact that her e-mail showed up on a day when my own confidence was sagging, when I needed inspiration to stay true to my own odd -- but just as beloved -- dream of the Letter Jar project and accompanying book?<br />
<br />
I call that luck. Or, as my Jewish friend A would say, "bashert." I <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/09/on-paper-in-person.html">wrote</a> about my good fortune of sharing dinner with him when he traveled to Chicago from Albuquerque for a conference last year, just days after he received my letter. That night we marveled at how I just happened to write when I did -- we hadn't talked in several years. "It's Bashert, he said. "It's a Yiddish word and there's no exact translation in English, though fate comes close."<br />
<br />
Truly. Call it bashert, or fate, or even just plain old luck -- responses to The Letter Jar seem to consistently bring me the right words at the right time. I can only hope that's true for some of the letters I send, as well.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">MAIL FROM A FELLOW MAILER</span></b>: I guess I ought to have expected that respondents to a blog about letter-writing would be an eclectic bunch. One such reader is Sheryl at <a href="http://www.changeofaddress.org/">changeofaddress.org</a>, a website whose name kind of says it all. Sheryl e-mailed to let me know about her new blog post, "<a href="http://www.changeofaddress.org/blog/2011/10-reasons-why-mail-can-be-late/">10 Reasons Why Mail Can Be Late</a>." Wondering why that letter bound for Phoenix took a detour through Fayetteville? Read on. And thanks Sheryl for visiting The Letter Jar!Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-8767838129791234662011-01-20T08:22:00.000-06:002011-01-20T08:22:20.546-06:00Unique Blend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have written <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/06/paradoxes-of-this-project.html">before</a> about how this project sometimes finds me in two worlds -- a 17th century world where people waited weeks and months as their handwritten correspondence traveled miles and mountains and seas, and a 21st century one where I wait just seconds as the Web produces the address of my high school ecology teacher in response to my typed query.<br />
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This blend of old and new seems all the more striking when I find myself writing, longhand with paper and pen, to people I've met only over the Internet. There have been seven such letters, all addressed to some of the amazing women I have met through an online message board for stepmothers like me. I recently wrote to J, who has inspired me by overcoming adversity and never losing sight of her dreams even amid major turmoil:<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cc0000;">
<i>While it might seem in some ways odd to be so moved by someone I've never met, I guess it's a testament to the power of the Internet (this whole letter-writing project might make me appear to be a Luddite, but actually I can still appreciate our wired culture) and more specifically the power of what [the stepmom site's founder] created -- I'm looking forward to writing to her and thanking her! I am really thankful for the chance to "meet" so many amazing, strong, imaginative women.</i></div>
<br />
That I can count these women among my friends, and write to them along with my childhood and college friends, teachers, coworkers and family, ever reinforces the gratitude The Letter Jar project has instilled in me. It may be, as many people say, a Facebook/Twitter/e-mail world, and we're just living in it. Turns out that's fine even for an old-fashioned writer like me.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">NEXT READ</span></b>: I can't wait to get my hands on <a href="http://www.hyperionbooks.com/book/365-thank-yous/"><i>365 Thank Yous</i></a> by John Kralik. After hitting what seemed to him to be the indisputable rock bottom in his life, Kralik embarked on a journey to focus on what he had, versus what he didn't. What resulted were 365 thank you notes to a bevy of people that, he discovered, enriched his life in myriad ways. Hooray for the power of gratitude -- can't wait to read of his experiences.<br />
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</div>Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-62391163045841362452011-01-11T10:00:00.000-06:002011-01-11T10:00:03.244-06:00Greener?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was delighted this past weekend to find in my mailbox a letter from K, whom I babysat some 25 years ago.<br />
<br />
As a babysitter I probably dispensed valuable advice such as "Don't touch the oven because it's hot" and "No, Barbie doesn't want to go swimming in the toilet."<br />
<br />
But with her letter, it was K's turn to impart wisdom:<br />
<br />
<i style="color: purple;">After going home as an adult I realized that the grass is not always greener. At least we have the memories to warm our hearts and keep us young.</i><br />
<br />
I had waxed nostalgic to K about our hometown in Western New York, how as a Chicago suburbanite I missed the slower pace and seemingly purer nature of small town life.<br />
<br />
K, herself now living in a busy metropolitan area in the South, acknowledged that her life can also sometimes seem too busy. But, she added, our recollections of the old neighborhood aren't necessarily the reality: on a recent visit she witnessed how the economic recession has ravaged the area, leaving it run down and boarded up.<br />
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<span style="color: purple;"><i>It is amazing how things change.</i></span><br />
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K is right. As I pondered her words -- and marveled at how I was receiving counsel from the little girl who used to beg to stay up for the first few minutes of "Dallas," so she could dance to the theme song before going to bed -- I realized my hometown is probably not the only place where the grass isn't greener. Were I to literally see so many of the locales that I figuratively revisit in my letters, I'm sure I'd find the vegetation less lush than it grows in my mind's eye.<br />
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The point isn't, as K pointed out, to try to recreate our beloved memories but instead use them as fuel and inspiration. Which, of course, is a compelling argument for stepping out of the past in order to experience -- and make worthwhile memories in -- the present. As Kacy Crowley sings in "Kind of Perfect": <i>someday these will be our old days, let's make them worth remembering.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Indeed. In writing <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/p/to-whom-have-i-written.html">more than 200 letters</a> I have been blessed to be able to reflect on some exquisitely beautiful -- vibrantly green, if you will -- people, places and events, and I look forward to doing the same in another year, or 10 or 25.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">AS GOOD AS ESPRESSO:</span></b> I started my day today by writing to a former coworker. Remembering her unique combination of discipline, diligence and humor was just the inspiration I needed to start my week. Thanks J.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-42178400918786024392010-12-14T10:00:00.003-06:002011-01-12T09:48:02.577-06:00Serendipitous Deliveries<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Some time has passed since I've written a letter or in the The Letter Jar blog. First work took me away, then I was so sick I could barely lift myself out of bed, let alone lift a pen to paper.<br />
<br />
The two week hiatus wasn't that long, but still long enough that the prospect of returning to my correspondence was starting to feel foreign.<br />
<br />
Was.<br />
<br />
A couple well-timed and thoughtful responses to letters I sent, and my love of the handwritten note has been reignited. Reading each reply was a double blessing, as I learned how my letter affected the recipient and also savored for myself the act of holding someone's thoughts and sentiments in my hand, feeling connected across miles and years.<br />
<br />
Today I received a letter from M, an editor of mine at my first newspaper reporting job. In my letter I had thanked her for being a tough boss:<br />
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<i style="color: #cc0000;">I'm not going to lie to you, M -- when you first came to the paper, I resented you. A lot. You pushed me out of my (oh-so-comfortable) comfort zone and demanded more from me ... I may not have liked it at first, but damn if it didn't make me a better reporter ... That I'm no longer in newspaper doesn't diminish the lessons. No matter what career one is in -- news reporting or toilet scrubbing -- one can, if she is being honest, say whether she has given all, the best, 100 percent. Thanks for helping to instill that idea early and often.</i><br />
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M wrote back that she was "floored" to get a "real letter:"<br />
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<i><span style="color: purple;">I've delayed writing back because I've been thinking: How many years has it been since I've received a "real letter?" I'm pretty sure it's at least 10 ... What will happen to history with the loss of writing on paper? We can see how Lincoln edited his speeches, how Hemingway wrote his novels -- but we can't see the deletes and editing in an e-mail, assuming the e-mails even survive.</span></i><br />
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A few days ago I received a letter from J, a county attorney who, serving as he did as a source for many of my stories at that first reporting job, was someone else I needed to thank:<br />
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><i>It was clear you always expected me to do my homework before talking to you ... I would think I'd done everything I could to shore up answers and fill in background, but quite frequently you could point out where I should have been looking for something or could have found my answer. I became better at my job as a result of being challenged by sources like you.</i></span><br />
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J wrote that he was "pleasantly surprised" to receive my letter.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: purple;">
<i>I am touched to have been in your letter jar. Thanks for your thanks -- and an accurate reading of my expectations.</i></div>
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M's and J's letters came at exactly the right time -- just when I and The Letter Jar project needed some reinforcement. I so delighted in finding personal letters in the mail, so enjoyed the anticipation I felt in wondering what the senders had enclosed inside. Seeing their handwriting and reading their words, I got such a boost -- one I am once again committed to giving others. <br />
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<b style="color: #38761d;">ACCIDENTALLY ANTISOCIAL: </b>Thanks to all my new <a href="http://www.twitter.com/theletterjar">Twitter </a>followers and <a href="http://www.facebook.com/theletterjar">Facebook </a>fans and please accept my apologies for my lack of acknowledgment to date. I appreciate your interest in The Letter Jar, and I hope you'll see that my recent inactivity is uncharacteristic; I love to write letters -- that's why I started The Letter Jar project -- and I love talking about it here. And I look forward to hearing what you think too.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-44496559044220998862010-11-19T22:34:00.001-06:002010-11-19T22:53:54.124-06:00Luck of the Draw<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxphreDIa9U4U7MC4JFQ3DZqxbLHLR6M970uB0aodq7W_o0AMz6L5oQUg0WjWdnxuYgCeOrio7okMRuvDNoq43zhYvn5VTWplkFP4shzZsc5RRhkjBhMbs31Jr6WYDBFx_cPvO48OdaXjS/s1600/1177924_95792295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxphreDIa9U4U7MC4JFQ3DZqxbLHLR6M970uB0aodq7W_o0AMz6L5oQUg0WjWdnxuYgCeOrio7okMRuvDNoq43zhYvn5VTWplkFP4shzZsc5RRhkjBhMbs31Jr6WYDBFx_cPvO48OdaXjS/s320/1177924_95792295.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>One of the things I love about The Letter Jar project is its randomness. I resolved at the beginning not to write my letters in a particular order, knowing that I would choose "easy" recipients -- former work colleagues, teachers, my favorite authors -- first and postpone the more emotionally complicated letters to family, close friends, ex-lovers.<br />
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So each day I pull a name from the jar. Over the past week I've written to my mother, a fellow stepmom I met through an Internet chat board, my 14-year-old nephew and a competitor at my first reporting job.<br />
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Never knowing what -- or, more accurately, whom -- I'm going to get when I open the jar means I also don't know what kind of mindset I'll require when I sit down to write. Will I plumb the depths of my emotions as I realize I'm now the age my mother was when she made major life changes? Or will I write a less challenging, but still gratifying, letter to simply acknowledge how the skill and ambition of my former competitor forced me to up my game and made me better at my job?<br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple;"><i><span style="color: #990000;">Your Aunt Lynn is working on a project to write 365 letters in 365 days,</span> </i></span> <span style="color: black;">I wrote to my nephew. <i style="color: #990000;">I know it sounds crazy -- why wouldn't I just use e-mail or Facebook or a text to get in touch with people? I've always written letters, though, ever since I was pretty young. And I really enjoy it. There is something about the process of putting pen to paper that helps me really tell people how I feel about them.</i></span><br />
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While my Letter Jar method could be aptly described as "the luck of the draw," it also seems there is luck in every draw -- for all my relationships, and in all the ways they have taught and enriched and strengthened me, I am lucky indeed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">THE LOST ART</span></b>: Thanks to Jackie at <i><a href="http://lettersandjournals.com/">Letters & Journals</a> </i>for linking to a story in The Guardian about "comedian and serial tweeter <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/nov/17/sue-perkins-letter-writing">Sue Perkins</a>, who is fronting a campaign to get people back into the habit of writing to one another." Write on!Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-76739878861661810012010-11-12T07:37:00.001-06:002010-11-23T12:38:57.027-06:00Roll Call, Part II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGvNAFEsfzl8pSS4KZ00eMwdzPKB5jhCDI4VHUjBh8ftbn-yDIEFwGSwqsJ0DW3kbID3tWQZ6m-COj9-Xr_LSHzH7Ovvkv8UVWpFxrrGWDkplQSwO2T6UJU73fpsYJywO1O-iHdaA3L5X/s1600/529599_47917840.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPGvNAFEsfzl8pSS4KZ00eMwdzPKB5jhCDI4VHUjBh8ftbn-yDIEFwGSwqsJ0DW3kbID3tWQZ6m-COj9-Xr_LSHzH7Ovvkv8UVWpFxrrGWDkplQSwO2T6UJU73fpsYJywO1O-iHdaA3L5X/s320/529599_47917840.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Several months ago I posted about <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/07/where-have-my-letters-gone.html">where my letters have been going</a>. As I approach the <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/p/to-whom-have-i-written.html">200-letter</a> mark, I was curious once again as to the distribution of letters from The Letter Jar:<br />
<br />
<table><tbody>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Illinois</b></td> <td>54</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>New Mexico</b></td> <td>30</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Iowa</b></td> <td>28</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Colorado</b></td> <td>18</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>New York</b></td> <td>12</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Indiana</b></td> <td>8</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Florida</b></td> <td>5</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>California, Minnesota, Ohio, Virginia</b></td> <td>4</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Kentucky, Michigan, Oklahoma</b></td> <td>3</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Arizona, Texas</b></td> <td>2</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Arkansas, Georgia, Missouri, Montana, North Carolina, Nevada, Oregon, Tennessee, Utah, Washington, Wisconsin</b></td> <td>1</td> </tr>
<tr> <td style="color: purple;"><b>Alberta, CANADA</b></td> <td>1 </td> </tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Of course, the majority of letters are still destined for the places I've spent the majority of my time -- Illinois and New Mexico as an adult, Iowa as a student, Colorado and New York as a child. But seeing all the other places too reminds me how blessed I have been to know people who hail from all around the nation (and beyond, in the case of my friend T in Canada), and who, like me, have moved about the country as well.<br />
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Seeing this list reinforces the subtle excitement I feel when I address a letter, envisioning it winding up in a mailbox -- an actual, real, physical mailbox, not a cyber one -- somewhere 20 or 200 or 2,000 miles away.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: #6aa84f;">CAN'T WAIT:</b><b> </b>National Public Radio has put out a call for letters -- love letters, fan mail, notes from relatives -- as part of an upcoming story on the U.S. Postal Service. This project has produced a few I'd like to upload (find out how you can too -- <a href="http://www.facebook.com/#%21/NPR">click here</a> for NPR's Facebook fan page, where you'll find the post about letters). This letter-writing junkie looks forward to hearing the story.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-12902958756402968102010-11-04T08:16:00.000-05:002010-11-04T08:16:40.968-05:00Clues<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifGmKnq7XURiXcE2nvHYs3UVt8f9hMsdDyRjV30aAfNGhybiEe_Iq_00eNw1IWVPWBIdL7SlJMeDKE7J1m_N7UTYS2Jke4tszlEYpYeTc0kRnZ6HEtio2oe9QNctBgHZ4yhyphenhyphenSuk4K0aPg/s1600/1259077_78166396.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhifGmKnq7XURiXcE2nvHYs3UVt8f9hMsdDyRjV30aAfNGhybiEe_Iq_00eNw1IWVPWBIdL7SlJMeDKE7J1m_N7UTYS2Jke4tszlEYpYeTc0kRnZ6HEtio2oe9QNctBgHZ4yhyphenhyphenSuk4K0aPg/s320/1259077_78166396.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Who knew that letters to <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/p/to-whom-have-i-written.html">194 people</a> could teach me so much about just one:<br />
<br />
Me.<br />
<br />
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I just finished a letter to P, a woman I met in college. About 13 years ago, I set P up with J, another friend of mine. P and J married one week after I wed my first husband.<br />
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While our union lasted five years, and theirs just five months, I still see in P a kindred spirit -- she and I both acted in good faith when we chose to wed, believing we were in love and had found someone with whom to fulfill our dreams.<br />
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Turns out we were wrong. Certainly about the dream fulfillment part; perhaps as far as love was concerned, we simply overestimated its power to make everything else right.<br />
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As I wrote to P, and thought about our weddings a decade ago, I felt as if I was retracing my steps. I found myself looking for -- and finding -- clues, little bits of answers to questions I wasn't even consciously aware I had: Why hadn't I given more thought to getting married the first time? What made me leap, with nary the most cursory look around?<br />
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Oh, that a six-page letter to a friend could fully answer those questions. But writing still put me in touch, however briefly, with the girl I was back then -- through a new lens I examined my youth and naivete, my eagerness to please, my need for security and the approval of others.<br />
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Learning more about myself certainly wasn't a primary goal of The Letter Jar project, but is perhaps an outcome I should have anticipated. After all, I haven't lived my life in a vacuum; the events of my life are populated with a widely varied, and in some cases highly influential, cast of characters. And, in that way, writing to them becomes an opportunity to recognize not only who they were and are, but also, interestingly, a way to explore who I was and am.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">NEXT READ</span></b>: I can't wait to get my hands on <i>Script & Scribble: The Rise and Fall of Handwriting</i> by Kitty Burns Florey, a fascinating history of handwriting and its effect on our creativity, understanding of language and daily lives. <a href="http://www.hereandnow.org/media-player/?url=http://www.hereandnow.org/2010/10/rundown-107-2/&title=Why%20Handwriting%20Still%20Matters%20In%20The%20Digital%20Age&segment=6&pubdate=2010-10-07">Listen </a>to Burns Florey discuss her book on the public radio show "Here and Now."Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-42152111590003683002010-10-26T08:22:00.003-05:002010-11-04T07:08:38.216-05:00Memory DNA<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYacfGpMw1MY9wRFwh_G9LxEXEJ9XMYrMtwtJJhPIEVtQagmfCpIfYvMSAm0IRUeo2U4fJNQhpxAjmQ08R5flNI6I0vlCkTboriIxy4DEUdZqB5EzxvXhzelv0EqzuOIKDHZ1ytTtKhlmq/s1600/1010760_30792274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYacfGpMw1MY9wRFwh_G9LxEXEJ9XMYrMtwtJJhPIEVtQagmfCpIfYvMSAm0IRUeo2U4fJNQhpxAjmQ08R5flNI6I0vlCkTboriIxy4DEUdZqB5EzxvXhzelv0EqzuOIKDHZ1ytTtKhlmq/s320/1010760_30792274.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image courtesy of Svilen Milev, <a href="http://www.efffective.com/">www.efffective.com</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="color: purple;"><i>I remember the hat you mentioned. Your brother said it made me look old. I still have that hat, but, I don't need it to look old.</i> </div><br />
Yesterday I received a letter back from my Uncle F. In my letter to him I had recalled a roller coaster I once rode with him and how he lost his hat when the ride went upside down.<br />
<br />
Never mind that the ride was some 30 years ago -- it immediately comes to mind when I think of Uncle F.<br />
<br />
Stories like these -- an amusement park mishap, my Great Aunt L using colorful language to make my brother behave at the Thanksgiving dinner table, the time I foolishly took on my Uncle C, a real estate agent, in a game of Monopoly -- make up our family DNA. Just as important -- maybe even more so -- as our real genetic strands, memory DNA helps define us, gives us an irrevocable sense of place no matter where we roam.<br />
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Of course, just as with the real stuff, not all memory DNA is perfect -- alongside the silly and the funny there is the serious and sad, the illnesses and deaths and divorces. Which, perhaps, makes the happy moments all the more important: not unlike the stronger parts of our genetic code, recollections of better times can reinforce and heal us amid painful struggle.<br />
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<i><span style="color: purple;">I also remember taking you and your brother for a short flight in the Taylorcraft. Your brother has told me that that ride gave him an interest in flying. I am enclosing a copy of my logbook entry for that flight.</span></i><br />
<br />
I was so touched to see the logbook entry from 1979. That airplane flight, a roller coaster ride, years of Christmases and Easters and everything in between -- no one else has my exact combination of memories. More so than my flat feet or straight hair or blue eyes, my memories, thankfully, make me who I am. <br />
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Yesterday morning, before receiving the letter from Uncle F, I wrote to my Aunt C. She is someone with whom I associate not hats, but shoes -- stilettos, in fact.<br />
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<i><span style="color: #990000;">... Your ability to walk gracefully in those shoes, in </span><u style="color: #990000;">any </u><span style="color: #990000;">situation -- I will never forget the time you came to see me in Georgetown at my hotel, and we walked to that restaurant across the icy bridge. You did it, skillfully! Might seem like a weird thing to mention or admire, but I'm telling you, as someone who isn't always as sure on her feet, I'm in awe.</span></i><br />
<br />
Obviously her footwear isn't all I associate with Aunt C, with whom I spent many a holiday as a child and who, a decade later, gave me advice about quitting smoking (our chat didn't yield automatic results, but it certainly got me started on the path of giving up cigarettes for good). More memories, more DNA.<br />
<br />
My Uncle F closed his letter to me by mentioning how I have a great husband (I do) and how my stepson and son are lucky to have been born into such a loving family (we're lucky to have them). One of my greatest hopes is that my husband and I can help the boys build their own "memory DNA" -- a lifetime of experiences uniquely their own.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-11371920694215326302010-10-19T07:11:00.002-05:002010-10-19T07:13:20.951-05:00I Ain't Seen Nothing Yet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagA3qjm102kKMFDXAQJaj1CI0bMdYOfTaTy0JKFBXyArT5JErdRVFG0lTLGOtPqfmHVs21eUhErWX3LNKdeVUcXodYFGz_lnRPgbatv3bxEvPy1XhQX4zrJ7bWibWM8ISqmSA4HO-z1cu/s1600/1270505_13123135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagA3qjm102kKMFDXAQJaj1CI0bMdYOfTaTy0JKFBXyArT5JErdRVFG0lTLGOtPqfmHVs21eUhErWX3LNKdeVUcXodYFGz_lnRPgbatv3bxEvPy1XhQX4zrJ7bWibWM8ISqmSA4HO-z1cu/s320/1270505_13123135.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>"The best is yet to come."<br />
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My former coworker L, to whom I wrote yesterday, said those words to me practically the very first time I met him. Given L's generally wisecracking personality -- which also became obvious during our first meeting -- I figured he was just being sarcastic.<br />
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Turns out he wasn't. L, corporate counsel at the insurance company where we worked, truly believed that no matter how good things are, they can always get better.<br />
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What an incredibly optimistic worldview, and--as I told L in my letter--damn if he isn't right. I told him how, over the past several years, I've been blessed with a loving husband and beautiful stepson and son, along with the love of friends and good health, and the simple blessings of a roof over my head, well-compensated work and reliable transportation.<br />
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This all is most certainly joy and happiness and security enough, and yet--it does seem to get better and better. Playtime with my children reinforces the wonder and joy in simple things. Challenges at work sharpen my sense of perspective. Even the return of a close family member's illness poses an opportunity to increase my faith and my patience.<br />
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And through this letter-writing project -- I just wrote my <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/p/to-whom-have-i-written.html">183rd letter, </a>meaning I have now written more than I have left to write, in order to reach my goal -- I've reignited old relationships, found opportunities to expand the reach of my writing and been reminded of the wisdom of my friends.<br />
<br />
The best is yet to come? I can hardly wait to see what's next.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #38761d;">BREATHTAKING</span></b>: Writing this post I thought of Pink's "Glitter in the Air" and its concluding line: "Have you ever held your breath and asked yourself will it ever get better than tonight?" She might have been asking herself that question after her <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3stsDXki__U&feature=related">absolutely gorgeous and utterly unforgettable performance</a> of the song at the 2010 Grammy Awards.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-20201918152262729222010-10-06T11:00:00.005-05:002010-10-06T11:07:08.013-05:00Finding the Right Words ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxs8DUgidTJ4in8IJvkXmoqx0oaPqMyHFLmRTIZB9Ot98Hum7P9EXSn4CGe5MaOiykp9X64H_MO2AVGRPH-1vYoOqgE-Hbjw1nPvYLIZICoZZg0M6sB-E6_Pla2F-Mrj07HvmxJ-fhYejM/s1600/54907_6584.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxs8DUgidTJ4in8IJvkXmoqx0oaPqMyHFLmRTIZB9Ot98Hum7P9EXSn4CGe5MaOiykp9X64H_MO2AVGRPH-1vYoOqgE-Hbjw1nPvYLIZICoZZg0M6sB-E6_Pla2F-Mrj07HvmxJ-fhYejM/s320/54907_6584.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>to express my thanks can sometimes be more difficult than I expect.<br />
<br />
I recently wrote to my friend M, who was there for me during my divorce from my first husband. I didn't open up completely to very many people back then -- maybe it was a lack of trust, maybe it was my shame -- but M knew everything. M listened as I dissected every detail of my decision, weighed every last bit of evidence, second-guessed every assumption.<br />
<br />
And M always knew what I needed -- a hand to hold, a voice of reason, a joke, a pep talk or a cheeseburger or a margarita.<br />
<br />
So when I went to write to M, I thought it would be a snap. The words would just <i>flow.</i><br />
<br />
Or not. I sat for a long time. I struggled to find the perfect words, the phrases that would articulately and fully convey the gratitude I felt for everything M had done. I didn't want to waste this opportunity.<br />
<br />
<i> </i><br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><u><i>What</i></u><i> do I say to someone who was there for me, didn't judge me, at one of the most, if not <u>the</u> most, devastating and profound times of my life? Besides thank you, of course ... Thank you for giving me a place to verbalize some of the most heretical thoughts and feelings I've ever had. You have no idea, M, how much it meant to be able to talk to someone without fear of criticism or betrayal -- I would have gone absolutely crazy without you. You saved my life, sister.</i></div><br />
She did save my life. And, as I remarked to her, it was just happenstance that she and I ever became friends in the first place -- during a company restructuring I was transferred to M's department, and she and I struck up a conversation one day. The next thing I knew, the girl in the next cubicle over was a cherished friend looking out for me when I wasn't so capable of looking out for myself.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i>It's almost as if the universe saw me heading off into the woods, and knew I was going to need a compass to keep from getting completely lost. You were my compass -- totally not at all anticipated and totally clutch -- how do I repay you? I will tell you I really do try not to take anything for granted these days; you just never how the universe is actually working things out for you.</i></div><br />
Indeed.<br />
<i> </i>Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-62525814818023521772010-09-29T08:28:00.003-05:002010-10-07T08:06:49.564-05:00On Paper, In Person<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_meGJId_ZOBH7B5CyiL6VpS-UNzbfqZQYar8uhrjiMZYR87b6_f38BrJMHQdw1NODgf_3ESTabtU7M50MoxEmXqGw26C_yIENuoVkQEbRR_GJ-9_qGOGBtYrvuj_L-_8vC_HOYQEYKLo9/s1600/116564_6429.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_meGJId_ZOBH7B5CyiL6VpS-UNzbfqZQYar8uhrjiMZYR87b6_f38BrJMHQdw1NODgf_3ESTabtU7M50MoxEmXqGw26C_yIENuoVkQEbRR_GJ-9_qGOGBtYrvuj_L-_8vC_HOYQEYKLo9/s320/116564_6429.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Funny how writing <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/p/to-whom-have-i-written.html">so many letters</a> to old friends can make you want to meet some new ones too.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago I wrote to A, a friend I made some eight years ago when we both attended a nonprofit management course at a local university. A was the director of a local Jewish center, and I was relatively new to a position in public affairs for the university health science campus.<br />
<br />
A and I got to know each other in brief chats before and after class and during breaks, and when the course was finished we met a few times for breakfast. Writing to him I realized that as I have moved into a different phase in my life -- from working in public relations to a more solitary editing position, with another full-time job at home raising a toddler -- I miss the opportunities I used to have to meet new people<i>.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i>As time has gone by I don't necessarily remember what we talked about during our breakfasts ... but what I do still remember very well is the experience of meeting someone new and broadening my horizons through shared experience and conversation and connection. If this letter-writing project has taught me (or perhaps more accurately, reminded me of) anything, it's that life is about relationships and the bonds we forge with others ... and the friendship I shared with you serves as a reminder of something I enjoy ... meeting new people from different walks of life and learning from and being inspired by them.</i></div><br />
In my nostalgia for days gone by and the connections I made naturally working in public relations, I realized that I can still broaden my horizons even now. Forging new relationships may take a little more effort than it did in my 20s, but it's still possible -- I am aware that I need only be willing to show up in different places than I normally do, and reach out to the people I find there. That simple formula, after all, launched relationships with the dozens of friends whose names are in The Letter Jar -- we crossed paths at the beach as kids, at a church youth group, in a college dorm, at a meeting of a professional association.<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i></i></div><div style="color: #990000;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #990000;"><i>I know I could find ways to meet new people once again, and the warm memories of getting to know you serve as an inspiration to do so. Thank you not only for the friendship you gave me at the time but for helping to rekindle a part of myself that has gone needlessly quiet.<br />
</i></div><br />
I ended my note to A, residing a half dozen states away, as I do so many letters to far-flung friends: I told him I didn't know when our paths might cross again, but, until they do, to take care and God bless.<br />
<br />
Turns out those paths will cross sooner than later -- A typed me a letter (he explained, apologetically, that I would be unable to read anything he handwrote) and said he'll be in my area for a conference in just two weeks. I don't know if you call that serendipity, or synchronicity, or what, but I am so glad A's name came out of the jar when it did. I'm looking forward to a chance to go "off paper" and "in person" for a while.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">WELL-SCRIPTED</span></b>: When I started my <a href="http://twitter.com/theletterjar">@theletterjar</a> account on Twitter, I naturally used the #letters hashtag to search for like-minded "tweeps." (The irony of using the epitome of 21st century technology to find enthusiasts of a 19th century pastime is not lost on me.) I was somewhat bombarded at the time with tweets about the movie "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0892318/">Letters to Juliet</a>," which was just hitting the theaters. Tonight I noticed the movie has made it to my Pay Per View -- perhaps it's finally time to indulge in a little "letter as plot device" romantic drama.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-72326752557985253282010-09-20T10:00:00.001-05:002010-09-20T10:00:00.645-05:00Stuck ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrB0aA4EHUWtXaXzcYiaFybYCcbjtWXaTSUdGkLAIodat6zKbueyMl8eOfXNm5j7mTqvSYw7fB9GLhI73lQLpt1axyJ_nldDJHpQhTg_pEMcxk7Z4NjtaOBhDL-3ojP2jkcpqGwZ2leDR_/s1600/259278_3383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrB0aA4EHUWtXaXzcYiaFybYCcbjtWXaTSUdGkLAIodat6zKbueyMl8eOfXNm5j7mTqvSYw7fB9GLhI73lQLpt1axyJ_nldDJHpQhTg_pEMcxk7Z4NjtaOBhDL-3ojP2jkcpqGwZ2leDR_/s320/259278_3383.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>in the 1800s.<br />
<br />
That's how I'm feeling tonight, about my letter-writing project. I am fond as ever of my (almost) daily missives, but was just reminded again of how this effort might be termed "quaint" or "old-fashioned," or--far less generously--"archaic."<br />
<br />
I wrote a letter to J, the lead singer of one of my favorite bands. Remember when you could "write" to the fan club of your favorite singer or actor? <i>Write</i>, as in take a pencil--or a silver glitter pen or a fuchsia magic marker, depending on your age, gender and level of ardor toward your letter recipient--to paper and express your thoughts, then stuff them in an envelope, slap on a stamp and send them to the fan club's P.O. box? (Yes, this is how I once got a signed photo of Hall and Oates, but I digress.)<br />
<br />
Well, it seems times have changed. I was hard pressed to find a physical address anywhere for J and his band--clicking the "Contact Us" link on the band's online fan club page yielded an e-mail form, because doesn't everyone e-mail now?<br />
<br />
Well, almost everyone.<br />
<br />
I settled for sending the letter in care of J's record label, which assures on its website that it looks forward to hearing from fans of all its artists. That may well be true, in terms of the label now having <i>my </i>address to send <i>me </i>junk mail, but I put the odds of J ever receiving my letter at 50/50, best case.<br />
<br />
Luckily for me, as important as J receiving the letter was the act of writing it--I've long wanted to tell him what an amazing songwriter I think he is, and how so many of his songs have profoundly affected me. And the act of expressing gratitude for gifts, from no matter where they come, is something worth sticking to.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">SPEAKING OF FAN MAIL:</span></b> Among the letters published on the website <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/">Letters of Note</a> are celebrities' notable, memorable, and downright quirky responses to fan mail they receive. <a href="http://www.lettersofnote.com/2010/09/oh-what-angry-person-you-are.html">A recently posted letter from Tatum O'Neal</a>, circa 1982, is a perfect case in point.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-52585579202665969022010-09-15T09:51:00.001-05:002010-09-15T23:01:47.299-05:00All in a Day's Work<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY1rxc0ik5pNYYT_Y8isLCIUS0FcUnw6x5FK5JdBgsAMj7Nl92S2jJ08lmSQTiu65AgAFPFo-aX-WvBa4MIhSQLlfYQn-5jcJc5s0bwhranYn_4btneCleePF40x3b86Vw9zzi4-Jo_rqg/s1600/1220365_30039750.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY1rxc0ik5pNYYT_Y8isLCIUS0FcUnw6x5FK5JdBgsAMj7Nl92S2jJ08lmSQTiu65AgAFPFo-aX-WvBa4MIhSQLlfYQn-5jcJc5s0bwhranYn_4btneCleePF40x3b86Vw9zzi4-Jo_rqg/s320/1220365_30039750.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDZASLieP_L4PBpWWV7rwHPUCywMXtlyt7CFFH1eNhU6oT9JLHAqZrvaACuk2dqbyddDecjM0GEGvVA4x5Hs-AYzm5t-FOoZW0mCKE3_aJPgMp5JU45Q4dXhh9woquHSRJOnf_JjAsv-TY/s1600/1290304_19989834.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>They were just doing their jobs.<br />
<br />
That's one way of looking at my experiences with two people to whom I wrote this week. But the way N, an airline customer service agent, effectively yet unknowingly talked me out of a panic was nothing short of brilliant. And M, the first nurse I encountered on the mother-baby unit after having my son, is quite simply an angel.<br />
<br />
<br />
N answered the phone on a fateful day in March 2005 when I called United Airlines--on the way to the airport, no less--to confirm I indeed had a last-minute ticket to Chicago purchased on a discount travel site.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i>You had the unenviable task of telling me that I didn't have a seat--that the online deal had not gone through. I was crushed, and you must have known, because you were so kind. You told me to hold a minute and you would see what you could find. I was starting to panic at the prospect of not being able to make the trip, but something in your voice, your calm and reassuring way, kept me believing that things might still work out.</i></div><br />
Things worked out. N found me a ticket--at a cost no more than the discount site, even--and I made it to Chicago. To see, as it would turn out, the man who would one day become my husband and the father of my child.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i>Now I realize that in some ways you were just doing your job--you looked in the system, found a ticket and sold it to me. But, like I said, your calming manner made all the difference in the world to me at that point. I never told you during the call why I needed the ticket, but you knew somehow that there was emotional urgency and did your job with exceeding kindness.</i></div><br />
When the aforementioned child was born last year, M was there to reassure and guide one exhilarated-but-exhausted mommy.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i>All the things you had to walk me through--particularly all that bathroom stuff--you did it with such kindness and patience. It takes a special kind of person to be a nurse, and you are that kind of person. At such a moment, when the new mommy is so physically and emotionally fragile (in a good way, but still fragile) she needs a reassuring voice and steady hand to guide her. And mommies at your hospital are so lucky to have you. Thank you, thank you, thank you for all you did to make me comfortable and able to enjoy every awe-filled moment with my new baby ... I know you were just doing your job, but you do it really well.</i></div><br />
If there is one thing I love about The Letter Jar project, it's how my eyes are opened all the time to new sources of blessings. By reflecting upon random acts of kindness and grace encountered in the past, often in the course of short interactions with people during their workdays, I am ever more able to recognize--and not wait nearly so long to acknowledge--blessings in the present.<br />
<br />
<b style="color: #6aa84f;">SINCERELY SWELL:</b> I'm delighted to have discovered the letter-writing blog <a href="http://www.sincerelylauren.com/">Sincerely Lauren</a>. In a recent interview on another of my favorite letter blogs, <a href="http://365lettersblog.blogspot.com/">365 Letters</a>, Lauren answers the question, "What is your favorite letter?"<br />
<br />
Lauren: "Any letter that is sent to me. I'm not picky. I do like longer letters, but beggars can't be choosers."<br />
<br />
Write on!Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-7881558755352394302010-09-13T10:00:00.002-05:002010-09-13T10:00:08.021-05:00Change Just One Step ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82NY5Wq_kWZ8ckrMS0ez086D-cyPwLHw_ba8wxKBrelgG9lcaPag8Y2MyrBkZXbfZONtBQvaVIpoi3F-JEDi5gqrNmEdvAwVboBwOWYUrK4QZuNgktQigssNHpiE3DeCw9NL-QSZChWPH/s1600/721669_10230861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj82NY5Wq_kWZ8ckrMS0ez086D-cyPwLHw_ba8wxKBrelgG9lcaPag8Y2MyrBkZXbfZONtBQvaVIpoi3F-JEDi5gqrNmEdvAwVboBwOWYUrK4QZuNgktQigssNHpiE3DeCw9NL-QSZChWPH/s320/721669_10230861.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>And the whole journey could be different.<br />
<br />
That's what I was thinking tonight as I wrote to J, who as the editor of community newspaper in Colorado some 20-plus years ago, took a chance and hired me--a high school sophomore with no real journalism experience but a whole lot of desire to learn--as one of her reporters.<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i>Throughout this letter-writing project I've written to (or plan to write to, in the case of names still in the jar) people who have influenced my path as a writer over my lifetime. My 7th grade English instructor. My high school journalism teacher. My advisor at the University of Iowa. And you. Of course I'm not claiming that one person made or broke my career, but I certainly do believe that each and every person made a difference, and the outcome just wouldn't have been the same if I'd changed even one step. So thank you. Thank you for finding a way to give an aspiring journalist a way to get her feet wet, cut her teeth (OK, enough with the metaphors) and collect some bylines.</i></div><i style="color: #990000;"> </i><br />
In writing my letters I often have been struck, not only when writing to people related to my career, by the idea that every step--no matter how seemingly insignificant--influences the whole journey. And when you consider that "journey" is just another way of referring to "life," what are "steps" but experiences and connections with other people? Sometimes the interactions are with our close friends and relatives, people we see time and time again. And other times, we interact with someone briefly, and it's still enough to make a difference.<br />
<br />
My experience with J was a positive one. I've found, however, the "don't change a step" pep talk most useful during negative times, whenever I start to think, "What am I doing <i>here</i>?" or "What could <i>this</i> possibly have to do with anything?" Or (my personal favorite) "Now <i>that</i> was a complete waste of time."<br />
<br />
But if I change one step-<i>any </i>step--the journey could be different. So let me bless the steps I've taken, fully experience the ones I'm taking and be fearless about the ones to come.<br />
<div style="color: #6aa84f;"><b><br />
</b></div><b><span style="color: #6aa84f;">LAST WORDS</span></b>: I was fascinated to read that a note <a href="http://celebs.gather.com/viewArticle.action?articleId=281474978511470">penned by John Lennon 15 minutes before his murder </a>is now up for sale for $154,000.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-58733865273929092262010-09-04T00:41:00.000-05:002010-09-04T00:41:04.773-05:00Memories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZ9Zg_B7lfu33DR2r2kbHSOoijXBdN00LDRevqHg65KTVeqdUv405Zr3RBnh6wbT_t2nwqRFwrzPyqDbHgM9Y8hZcWFCrlxMOOwqDKHbIOj-MveC43cSC21v7pHO1xnzHiQWJ9l4QAnY6/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvZ9Zg_B7lfu33DR2r2kbHSOoijXBdN00LDRevqHg65KTVeqdUv405Zr3RBnh6wbT_t2nwqRFwrzPyqDbHgM9Y8hZcWFCrlxMOOwqDKHbIOj-MveC43cSC21v7pHO1xnzHiQWJ9l4QAnY6/s320/untitled.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>Though the first thing that popped into my head as I wrote the title of this post was Barbra Streisand and the "corners of her mind" (misty watercolor memories ...), I'm feeling a lot more a lot more Funny Girl than The Way We Were.<br />
<br />
I just wrote a letter to D, a high school friend. D was also my senior prom date, and I couldn't help but smile as I recalled that spring 1989 night.<br />
<br />
<i style="color: #990000;">That dress of mine -- <u>hideous</u>. So, so 80s, what with the pepto pink and the hoop skirt, aye aye aye. At least the hoop provided comic relief when I got into the Barracuda at the end of the night--I remember the damned thing smacking me in the face.</i><br />
<br />
The story is true. D and I weren't doing anything at all lascivious, he was just driving me home. But as I lowered myself into the deep, deep bucket seat of D's car, the hoop raised itself--in a rapid and too-hysterical-to-truly-be-mortifying kind of way.<br />
<br />
Recalling funny memories like that has been one of the best parts of The Letter Jar project. Recently I wrote to A, who in addition to being my best friend for the better part of 18 years, is by far the best traveling companion I've ever had. Roadtripping all over the country, from Wyoming to Georgia to Louisiana, we've racked up some pretty hilarious memories. I laughed out loud recalling the Savannah port-a-potty to which I lost a t-shirt I'd just purchased, the North Dakota farms we toured on a construction detour and the shrieking noises to which we fell asleep camping in Yellowstone. (We would learn from a park employee in the morning that those dulcet tones were, in fact, mating elk.)<br />
<br />
I enjoyed another night of laughing and writing and laughing when I wrote to K, who roomed with me and A my senior year of college. The things we did and said in that apartment (a "quote board," which K swears she transcribed at some point, served to record the "things said")--what a year. My husband had to think I was nuts, listening to me just cackling downstairs as I penned my recollections of our misadventures. Questionable boyfriends. Inside jokes. Too much liquor. Not enough sleep. Memories I wouldn't trade for anything.<br />
<br />
(K told me that she too laughed out loud--and got a few raised eyebrows from her husband--as she read my letter, which she has kept for whenever she needs a pick-me-up. I'm glad to share the wealth.)<br />
<br />
The list goes on and on. The high school friends with whom I "TP'd." The grade school buddies who were the Farrah Fawcett and Jaclyn Smith to my Kate Jackson in regular re-enactments of Charlie's Angels. The friend who took me in and filled me with gin to help me through my thirtysomething divorce.<br />
<br />
Sure, I'd probably stumble across these memories in the--ahem, corners of my mind--from time to time even without The Letter Jar. But the act of sitting down, almost daily, to focus on just one person, brings back so many more memories--and in such surprisingly vivid detail. And I'm quite grateful that some memories aren't just happy, but hilarious--surely the sign of a blessed life.<br />
<br />
Funny girls, the way we were.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">SHOUT OUT</span></b>: Just have to thank Twitter's <a href="http://twitter.com/writerly_dee">@writerlydee</a> for graciously following and cheerfully supporting The Letter Jar project. Never did I know how many fellow letter lovers there were out there--may your paper be plentiful and your pens never run dry!Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-484329837372074461.post-24190107821781731472010-08-26T12:00:00.001-05:002010-08-26T12:00:00.179-05:00Like Neon Ice Cream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUqepHOBvAcOVlpRzvbZP53udgnHBPITDdwzyMfw_m2-NfCWccuVMgFYhb4nkDa9DSlGFhCW5XHDITb6iPZMUHfnodoItw8xzh1LDNsuuriENRszqclXh4kFBC0G0n3sWryXQSoOGD0hL/s1600/490398_84329113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUqepHOBvAcOVlpRzvbZP53udgnHBPITDdwzyMfw_m2-NfCWccuVMgFYhb4nkDa9DSlGFhCW5XHDITb6iPZMUHfnodoItw8xzh1LDNsuuriENRszqclXh4kFBC0G0n3sWryXQSoOGD0hL/s320/490398_84329113.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Yesterday I received <i>two </i>pieces of personal mail. Both replies to letters I'd sent, these letters were sweet surprises: even as my "sent" number has reached <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/p/to-whom-have-i-written.html">almost 150</a>, my mailbox most often yields a disappointing pile of bills, catalogs and other obligations and junk. What I believed at the beginning of The Letter Jar project is not becoming any less true--with ever more of our written, personal communication handled by text and e-mail the old fashioned mailbox is now the franchise of official, "boring" mail.<br />
<br />
So much so that a personal letter stands out like a tub of neon-colored bubble gum-flavor amid the vanillas and chocolates at the ice cream parlor.<br />
<br />
<br />
One letter was from my <a href="http://theletterjarblog.blogspot.com/2010/07/thanking-my-teachers.html">high school journalism teacher</a>, who thanked me for my letter but also filled me in on her life--knowing how hard as she and so many of my teachers worked, it elated me to read that she was enjoying a retirement full of family and travel and personal passions. <i><span style="color: #990000;">"As a teacher it is always wonderful to see previous students excel in their personal areas of interest," she wrote. "Only about a half dozen of my previous newspaper students have gone into some form of journalism--I'm glad to hear your career has been successful."</span></i><br />
<br />
The other letter was something of a two-tiered surprise--I was excited at first to see another personally addressed envelope in my stack of mail, but then recognized it as one I'd self-addressed and stamped. I'd written a letter to D, a long-lost former work colleague in Iowa, and when it came time to send it, I'd chosen an address from three listed for people with his name in his medium-sized community. (Thankfully someone had given me a tip about the side of town on which my friend was rumored to have bought a house--that, along with the resident age information whitepages.com lists with its addresses, fueled my process of elimination. Once again the Internet came to the rescue of my 19th century project.) On the chance that I'd chosen the wrong D, however, I stuck a note to the letter asking that they please return it to me in the enclosed envelope.<br />
<br />
I sent the letter to the wrong D, I lamented when I recognized my own handwriting.<br />
<br />
My excitement returned when I opened the envelope to find a letter--from the right D, who had very wisely used my envelope to mail his reply. His letter was newsy and upbeat, the latter of which was notable considering D had recently been laid off from the company where we had both worked. <i><span style="color: #990000;">"The layoff has given me more time to spend with friends and goof off. I've gotten into better shape being away from Vendoland junk food. I've had moments of despair over the past year (What am I going to do with my life? Blah blah blah) but overall things are good. There are people who have it a lot worse than I do."</span></i><br />
<div style="color: #990000;"><i><br />
</i></div>D's letter would have been a treat at any time, but I especially appreciated his words--and more specifically, his wisdom--at the end of yesterday, a particularly long and trying day. Finding personal letters in the mail everyday could very well be wonderful, but perhaps there's something to be said as well for spying that bubble gum just when you have a taste for it.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="color: #38761d;">DUTY CALLED</span></b>: When a nasty stomach bug felled my son and husband--but thankfully spared me so that I could take care of them--The Letter Jar blog--and indeed, The Letter Jar project--went on a two-week hiatus. The law of opposites helps me to be unworried about making my 365 letter goal--for as extraordinarily exhausted as I've been recently, surely there will be a corresponding time in the next 26 weeks when I'll find myself especially energetic.Lynn, the letterwriterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08310733334651793130noreply@blogger.com0