Neighbors

Last week at this time, I was delighted to find the above postcard in the day's mail:  The stranger I'd briefly talked with on a walk in February to whom I'd sent a surprise Valentine had written back.  The postcard's front was one of Monet's dreamy water lily paintings.  The note on the back mentions that, "[His] water lilies also resemble hearts."  Yes.  The postcard had made my day anyway, but that observation continues to tickle me.  How sweet this world can be.   

♥

On Its Way to a Neighbor

While out walking a couple weeks ago, I noticed the heart-shaped Ivy leaves growing along the front of a house.  I paused to take a few pictures of them, and while crouched down to get the right angle, I heard someone call out, "Is something interesting?"  I felt a momentary flutter of panic then realized I could hear a smile in the voice.  I looked up and saw a woman backing her car into the house's driveway while she waited for my response.  I explained that the Ivy had heart-shaped leaves and that they were too striking not to photograph.  Still smiling, she said she was glad to hear that something on her property was photogenic.  She had been living there for more than forty years, she went on, and it was nice to hear that other people saw things they liked about it.  The property is beautiful, so I easily found more than a couple other "photogenic" things to mention about it.  "Are you a professional photographer?" was her next question.  I explained about my walks and how the camera makes them more fun for me, and as I gestured to her Ivy again, she commented that the picture would make a nice Valentine.  She was quite right, so after making a mental note of her house's number, I had the photo made into a greeting card last week and I mailed it out to her address this morning.  I have been wrong about things like this before, but I am guessing this pleasant person will not mind the surprise. 

My Ballet Teacher Wrote Back!

"I do remember you with your beautiful hair bouncing until your mother pulled it back."  So funny.  How in the world would she remember such a thing?!  She just retired from teaching in December after having taught dance for fifty years, she reported.  And she signed her letter, "Love, Miss Karen."  Surely, we must have called her that in class instead of just "Karen" as I had been recalling.  My mom will probably remember.  She filled an entire note-card and it is all so sweet.  Oh my goodness, I will treasure this.  ♥

For My Ballet Teacher

Winging its way across the state in today's mail are a letter and photos for my former ballet teacher.  One contact led to another a few months ago, and I finally learned the last name of the beautiful lady who taught ballet in my elementary school cafeteria thirty-four years ago.  Now that the kind and lovely Karen of my kindergarten memories had a last name and then an address, I was able to put words to paper finally and thank her for this sweet part of my childhood.  After school however-many days a week in 1982, my classmates and I would meet in the school cafeteria in our most basic workout clothes and ballet shoes and dance in a circle around ever-smiling Karen.  She is one of a number of people who graced my life as a child who was just undeniably Meant to Work with Children.  She was just so good with us--and you can see it in her face in these pictures. 

I still remember the basic ballet positions, although the classes now seem to have been at least as much a time for us all to run around the circle giggling and performing Disney soundtrack-accompanied "Mousercize" as they were an opportunity to learn to dance.  We thought we were all prima ballerinas, though, I'm sure, especially after all the lessons in long-sleeve t-shirts and sweatpants culminated that winter in our donning pink and silver satin sequinned leotards and tutus for our holiday performance at the high school.  My ballet shoes got lost in the shuffle at some point, but I still have my leotard and tutu--and they smell and feel exactly as they did when I first received them, I noticed while sorting some things at my parents' house this past fall.  There is nothing about me that will have made me memorable to Karen--she owned a dance studio in addition to offering these introductory classes in the schools, so I am just one of the hundreds of people who have enjoyed her teaching and sweetness over the years--but she and the joy of her after-school lessons have been fondly remembered by me --and by my mom, who also thought my instructor was fantastic ("Just to be able to coral all you girls, let alone teach you to dance. . . !")--all this time, so Karen will soon be receiving a thank you card and these pictures.  And I hope they find her well. 

♥

My Parents Make Me Laugh

My parents' Christmas card arrived yesterday with the above note from Mom enclosed.  My laughter turned into cackling pretty quickly at this.  This crazy month.  Since she wasn't able to drive to get out to shop on her own the first few weeks after surgery, Mom's behind with All Things Christmas this year. 

Then I got to the end of Dad's included note and laughed again.  He clearly hadn't forgotten my "demotion" in his last note. 

'Too funny all-around.  Both blessed and charmed, I am.  ♥

Thanksgiving Mail

I only mailed out a few Thanksgiving cards this year, but it was still a treat to spend even that little bit of time catching up and placing Snoopy-in-Pilgrim-hats stickers on envelopes.  

Today's Charming Thing

I called home to tease my dad after reading his and mom's latest letters (and gift of contents/treat labels for holiday baking ♥), "You signed your letter with your NAME!" I laughed, and he said, "What?!  Instead of 'Dad,' you mean?  Oh!!  I'm sorry!"  We had a good laugh that I had been downgraded--and via letter!  so cold!--and I am still smiling over it.

February

"Did you know," inquires my dad in his last letter, "that ice-chipping is much worse than snow-shoveling?  Well, it is.  75 lures later, I still have three weeks to kill before March 1st--my sanity cut-off date.  Pitchers and catchers report coming soon.  Cardinals are singing.  I'll cling to any ray of hope. "  Indeed.  I wasn't minding winter until this past week but now feel like I've gotten the gist--If I were in Boston, I'd say I've more than gotten the gist.  We got hit by our own three-feet-of-snow blizzard here in February 2010, so I empathize--and am ready to move on to spring.  This photo. . .after a mile-and-a-half walk a few days ago. 'Have been in a rotten mood all week, and it's not like me to be in one for this many days.  I blame the wind, the slippery sidewalks, everyday life nonsense in general, phantom wisdom tooth pain--they were removed thirteen years ago, but now and then, the site of one missing tooth starts aching--and lack of enough real walks.  Blehhh!  I echo Mom's postscript-drawing in Dad's letter below. 

My younger brother turns thirty-three today.  It is my father-in-law's birthday too.  And by Saturday, a small package containing chocolate-marshmallow hearts for my niece and my nephew and a copy of this sweet book will reach my niece Alyssa--of bat-and-cat-drawing fame--who turns eight this weekend.  Both my grandmothers, Mike's niece, a great-aunt, and my older brother have all had birthdays this month too, and each circled cake-and-ice-cream date on the calendar is a bright spot in this otherwise dreary month.  And thank God for that.  ♥

Mail for Mr. V

I am not quite on the ball with Halloween card-mailing this year, but I have a few things ready to send out.  I'll be getting just a few cards mailed today, I have a tiny box of cards and candy ready for my older niece and my nephew, and I had the book Where Is Baby's Pumpkin?  shipped to little niece Bianca a couple days ago to mark her first Halloween.  (The online book preview showed the baby peeking around an orange gingham curtain--

--and how could I have resisted?!)  Today's outgoing mail also includes a combination Halloween-thank you card for Mr. V, one of my fifth and sixth grade teachers.  He was one of my favorites and one of the best.  I've found what I'm hoping is really his address and have now offered my long-overdue thanks, which makes me happy.  

Mr. V was a sharp dresser and loved dogs and baseball--this was the era of the mid-late 1980s New York Mets and Darryl Strawberry, of whom there was a poster on one of Mr. V's classroom walls--and if I'm remembering correctly, the snazzy red car in the teachers' parking lot was his--but we students loved him because he cared about us, enjoyed us, and was simply one of the good ones.  He was the first teacher who really encouraged my art skills.  I painted or drew a picture of my Beagle in his class one day, and he not only praised it, but also took it over to a teacher who was visiting his room at the time--the equally wonderful Mr. M--and showed it off to him too.  Tradition at our elementary school was that each year, a couple of the sixth grade students were selected to illustrate the cover of the yearbook.  Instead of simply telling me in class the next day that I had been one of the two chosen student-artists, he knocked on the door of the other teacher's classroom I was in at the time--this time, dear Mr. G's--and asked if he could speak to me for a moment--He wants to talk to me?!  In the hall?!?  What did I do?!  I didn't do anything!  When I stepped into the hall, I found my best friend standing beside him, adding to the pure thrill seconds later when Mr. V announced that she and I would be the ones designing the yearbook cover.  He could have just waited to tell us in class, of course, just as he could have notified us separately, but no:  Instead he created a moment, and it was, clearly, a memorable one.  It is that kind of "small" kindness that stays with a person.  

Fifth grade was the year of our using microscopes for the first time too, and he shared our excitement as we saw insects and who-knows-what-else up-close for the very first time.  When I asked him after class one day where he bought the tiny lights for the microscopes we used in class, he answered at-length, but all I remember now is that he said that even the little Christmas tree string lights' bulbs would work.  That was the first year science ever interested me:  I asked my parents for both a cookbook and a microscope that Christmas.  There remains the feeling, almost thirty years later, that we all went through the fifth grade together:  He experienced it right along with us, as it should be.  And my gratitude is much bigger than I could ever express in a greeting card, but he'll be getting one in the mail this week anyway, and I hope it brightens his day as he brightened so many of mine.  

♥

Dite, dite, Hodey. :)

I mentioned back in 2011 how much the following Sunday newspaper comic by Lynn Johnston made me and my parents laugh when we first read it.  The next-to-last panel's line has become something Mom, Dad, and I say to each other when one of us is sick and stuffed-up.  When I called them the other night, I told them about the horrible cold I've been suffering from this past week--as if they couldn't tell from my voice--but I forgot to sign off with our catchphrase until I was wrapping up a quick note home to them this morning.  While I recover here, please enjoy one of our favorite cartoons.  ♥ 

♥

Postscript from Dad

This succinct note from Dad appeared on the back of one of Mom's envelopes last week.  ♥  One of the benefits of not being one of my parents' local kids--my younger brother and older brother live twenty-five and fifteen minutes away from them, respectively--is that I have almost twenty years' worth of their letters.  We write to each other weekly--letters from both Mom and Dad were tucked into the envelope that arrived in yesterday's mail--and along with our letters usually exchange hometown news stories clipped from their paper, comic strips, decorating and gardening ideas from magazines, photos of my apartment projects, Mom's photos of her and Dad's gardens, paint chips, wallpaper and fabric scraps, flower seeds, occasionally a few dollars of what we call "fun money" to buy a magazine or flowers or other enjoyable "just because" thing with, and recipes we think the other will like.  It is the letters that are most precious, of course, and I've kept every one since the very first in 1995.  (I've kept all but maybe ten pieces of all the personal mail I've ever received, for that matter.)  Mom is not as sentimental as I am and rarely saves any of her mail--Alas! for my future biographers!  ;)--but I have boxes and bags full of it, and knowing that I have all these letters carefully packed away is a special joy. 

April Violets and October Anniversaries

Today my parents celebrate their forty-third wedding anniversary.  In 1966, one of the young men my dad was serving with in Vietnam mentioned in a letter to his kid sister back home that one of his Air Force buddies could use some extra mail.  My fourteen-year-old mom dutifully put pen to paper for her big brother, my dad soon wrote back, and four years of Air Mail later, it was their matchmaker, Dad's friend and Mom's brother, who served as Best Man at their October 24th wedding.  "Some of my best work," my uncle brags of their union.  In four more years, my parents would name their first child after dear Uncle Dan.  As I like to point out to my mom, who is still upset that they don't have better pictures from their wedding day, her marriage turned out even if her photographs didn't.  

 

Before the autumn wedding and baby Daniel, though, there were those four years of letters, care packages, and rare visits home on-leave.  "I would complete soak all my stationery and envelopes in Yardley's April Violets," Mom always mentions when she talks about their correspondence.  She wrote my dad a letter a day.  Dad, for his part, sent letter, pictures, and love poems--"And your dad was really a poet," Mom always adds at this point in her reminiscences.  I come by my love of letter-writing naturally, I can't help but think, just as so many of "[their] songs" from the mid-late 1960s--"Crimson and Clover," "I Heard It Through the Grapevine," and "My Girl," to name just a few--had become my own favorites by the time I was eleven.  My parents finally saw each other in-person for the first time during one of my dad's visits home.  High school student Mom anxiously waited at her parents' window in New York while my dad made the drive up from Pennsylvania.  "When I saw him coming down the sidewalk in his dress uniform. . . !"  Mom still gushes at the memory, blushingly trailing off each time she shares it.  "And I'm telling you, Vally," she always goes on, "I knew right away that he was a keeper:  My brother Eric was just a baby then and was playing with his toy cars, and your dad got right down on the floor beside him and started racing the cars around with him."  (How a man treats the very young and very old tells you all you need to know about a man's character, my mother advised me ages ago.) 

Perfumed mail, The Big Chill soundtrack of their pen pal days, and matchbox car races can make it all seem much more lighthearted than it was, of course.  "Come home safe" is written in Mom's teenage penmanship across the backs of so many of her old photos to Dad.  The scene in Forrest Gump that shows a safely-home-from-Vietnam Forrest reunited with his beloved Jenny is the one that always gets my parents, and being in the room with them while they watch uniform-clad Forrest and long-haired Jenny embrace after his years in the service almost feels like too personal a Mom and Dad Moment to intrude upon.  Their own love story didn't have to turn out this well, and we all know it.  Dad doesn't decorate family members' graves on Memorial Day without remembering the classmate with whom he enlisted and without whom he made it home.  

Tonight my parents will exchange cards and maybe catch dinner and a movie, while two of their grandchildren daydream about next week's Halloween costumes and another grandchild waits a few more weeks to be born.  The letters that started it all, still tucked into their red and blue-bordered Air Mail envelopes, have been carefully packed away since 1970 in my parents' bedroom closet, faintly flower-scented testaments to the wonder of true love. 

♥

2013's Valentines

I've always thought of Valentine's Day as the highlight of post-Christmas winter.  Just when the season seems endlessly cold and bleak, Valentine's Day arrives with its cozy reds and warm pinks and its gifts of love and flowers and pretty sweets and kind words.  A little girl in my care at work last week put two and two together while we were making cards and exclaimed, "Hey!  Val!  Valentine!  VALentine!"  I told her that the fact that my name is in it was part of the reason I loved this holiday so much when I was her age. 

 I love it now for better reasons, rest assured.  Since I didn't have my first boyfriend or even date until I was 24, my love for the day was never about dolling up for a romantic dinner out or finding the perfect present for a man or any of the other things we're too often told are the point of Valentine's Day.  It is for me a whole week of finding and making cards, catching up on letters, looking up recipes, deciding what to bake and which tablecoth to use, admiring the stores' displays of flowers and sweets, and marching through snow to the post office to send my stamped and stickered greetings.  I set what remains my own record my freshman year of college by mailing 44 Valentines, but even years like this one, when payday was the day after and the holiday was a more low-key affair, simply sitting down with a cake recipe and a few cards, stickers, and stamps before me was enough. 

 I mailed out Aunt Laurie's card and then realized I'd forgotten to include a frog somehow, a Valentine's Day tradition she has graciously come to accept over the years, so I created a second little card and walked back to the post office with it so it would arrive on time.  

Aunt Laurie's own card arrived Thursday and was more of her amazing paper art.  Remember the incredible scrapbook she made for Mike's and my first anniversary last April?  Lately, she has been crafting these house cards--"Cottage Cards by Laurie," she labels them, inside a heart-shaped tag that hangs from the chimneys--with windows and doors that open to reveal images, the recipients' names, and other little surprises.  

 This Valentine's Day's sweetest surprise came from my friend Tina, who is also my friend Sommer's sister.  In a big red heart-covered envelope was not only a long letter, but also recent pictures of her and her family, a handmade fabric Valentine card, and a puffy cinamon-scented fabric heart to hang.  Tina and I have shared the most heartbreaking moments over the years, so to be exchanging happy hearts still twenty years after we met is now the sweetest gift of all--and one that likely delights Sommer.  ♥  Life is such a wild ride. 

 An exchange of cards and a small carrot cake for us here Valentine's night, leftover cake the next few days, and Valentine's Day/Week has now come and gone again.  Love to you all, and here's to a happy March.  ♥

Sunday Before Thanksgiving, From Birds to Bedtime

'Got up hours before Mike this morning.  'Walked to Target hoping to find one of the $1 "L♥VE" Christmas tree ornaments I'd seen on their website before the Black Friday shopper hoopla begins later this week and they all get snatched-up.  I found two, one for the tree and one to keep out year-round.  And two little birds to add to my flock that flutters against our red gingham curtains.  At our old apartment, we had a view of both the backyard and side yard and could watch Cardinals, Robins, and Chickadees (←my favorites) flit around for the seed we would scatter for them, but our new apartment has no real yard and sees no birds, so for now, it's an ever-growing collection of curtain birds.  'Picked out some Thanksgiving cards and Snoopy-themed Thanksgiving stickers to mail out tomorrow.  'Found four plates and two books at Goodwill.  Have I mentioned that I actually hate shopping?  I try to do as much online as possible.  After today, I am aiming for one more Target trip for Christmas gifts and hoping I can finish the rest online.  I usually succeed at this.  'Definitely a "Far from the Maddening Crowd" person.  

'Annoyed Stuffed by taking his picture while he sat on his window perch, but his posture was so cute and the trees in the neighbor's yard so glowing, I couldn't resist.  He spent last week determined to rub his nose against every corner in the apartment and is now black and white with a gray-until-all-his-fur-grows-back nose, but he is as adorable as ever.  While I was at work one night last week, he played fetch with one of his cat toys with Mike, trotting down the hall with the toy in his mouth and then returning to the living room with it.  I always tell Mike that if Stuffed didn't have claws, I'd be tempted to walk around holding him like a toy all day long, he's just so soft and cuddly and so purely CUTE, my favorite stuffed animal come-to-life.  'Love, love, love this shy little soul.  ♥

'Got my Thanksgiving cards ready to mail. Last month, I pressed a bunch of colorful leaves into the pages of a book to include in future letters, and they're now preserved in Thanksgiving mail with transparent tape over them.  I only remembered at the last minute today to buy Thanksgiving cards, so to end up even this on-top-of-things tonight is a pleasant surprise.  I volunteered to work Thanksgiving again this year so I can have Christmas off instead, so it just really hasn't been on my mind.  Mike will be spending Thursday with his family, and he and I will have a Thanksgiving dinner together sometime next week, I suppose.   

'Went out to supper with Mike and had two of the best iced teas I've had since Summer of Sun Tea (and Humidity) 2012.    Everyone in our section of booths at the restaurant tonight was so appreciative of the server and so pleasant toward her and with each other, it made our simple meal out even better.  The last time we went out to eat, everyone in our section was treated to an elderly woman in the booth beside ours who squawked at the harried server--who was a good ten yards away from her at the time--"What happened to the sour cream I was supposed to get THIRTY MINUTES AGO?????"  Grrrrrrrr.  The server handled it like a champ and later joked about it with us, but rudeness like that just makes my blood boil.  It is soooooo much nicer when people are just pleasant to each other.  "You know, we're living in a SOCIETY!" as George shouted on "Seinfeld."  Mike and I did enjoy barking variations of the elderly woman's line at each other for awhile after returning home tonight, though.  "What happened to the [drink/snack/napkin] you were supposed to bring me THIRTY MINUTES AGOOOOOOO?!!??"

'Admired my umpteen layers of clothing while I waited for Mike to get a coffee at Dunkin' Donuts for the walk home after supper.  I love this weather.  The stars were out as we walked, and it was just breezy enough to feel brisk and not so cold that it hurt our throats to breathe.  The houses were not yet decked-out in holiday lights as they'll start to be later this week.  For the last Sunday this year, their only glow came from interior lights and nearby street lamps.  A few pumpkins still sat on porch steps.  We only shared the sidewalks with a few people who were walking their dogs, which reminded us, at it always does, of the time we were walking some of the same streets only to find a tiny dog that had broken free of its fenced-in yard, and while we waited for the owners to meet us at the street we'd called to tell them we were on, I sat on the sidewalk holding the little dog and it rested his head on my thigh as if settling onto its pillow for the night.  So dear.  The puppy's name was "Coco," the owners told us when they arrived to take him home soon after that, so now every time Mike and I walk in that area, we recount the Coco story to each other and laugh about how, even though he was lost and had never seen us before, Coco had promptly snuggled his teacup-size head onto my lap.  ♥  

'Talked with Mom and Dad tonight and emailed a couple friends.  And now Mike has gone to bed and I am up late, as always, with my books and more iced tea beside me before I join him.  The blue floral skirt here is part of the desk re-do I've been working on, a story for another day. 

Fall Leaves and Frog Stickers: My Pen Pal, Aunt Laurie

My sweet aunt Laurie is one of my favorite people, and she and I have been exchanging cards, letters, and other little "love notes" through the mail since I was a kid. The photo above is of our November correspondence from last year--she always makes collages and includes them with her letters, and I pass along pretty fall leaves that I know she'll appreciate. Her Halloween card, collage, and letter in response to my own arrived in Monday's mail, and although I just saw her in July for my brother's wedding, her words made me miss her even more than I already did. I have been missing my family a lot lately, as I had told her in my letter, and I wish I could be in at least three places at once. "I'd love to just appear at your door and offer some dinner and hugs," she wrote in Monday's letter. "'Sending hugs through the mail."

When my best friend died in 1995, Aunt Laurie was having a traumatic week of her own with one of her children, and I sent her a card a couple days after my friend's death to check in with her and to send love to my cousin. "Oh how I wish I could hold you and tell you everything will be okay," her letter back began. It is one of the things I remember verbatim from the haze of those first few weeks without my friend.

Knowing how I love holidays and seasonal meals, Aunt Laurie added an illustration to her Christmas letter's collage a few years ago of a woman studying a cookbook titled 10 Festive Meals You Can Make with Canned Peas. It still makes me laugh. :)

Aunt Laurie's a lover of all things Victorian, lacy, and pretty.

She writes poetry, loves to take nature walks and sew, and makes amazing Civil War reenactment costumes.

She is more than a little psychic and has amazingly vivid spiritual dreams. The pictures she takes often have orbs of light in them.  

She is soft-spoken--a bit Jackie Kennedy-ish--speaks slowly, and has a way of seemingly moving in slow motion, as well.  Her handwriting has the same almost-fragile quality. She has gentle brown "doe eyes" but can only be pushed so far before proving she's tougher than she appears.

She likes peanut butter and doesn't like chocolate. She sometimes drinks tea but adores coffee. She loves doughnuts but tries not to eat them since my uncle is always watching his weight and is too easily tempted. Her homemade bread is to die for--light and sweet loaves that come to loved ones covered in pretty dish towels.

She wraps presents beautifully. Her Christmas package is the biggest treat, since there are always linen snowflake doilies as package decorations, lovely fabric ribbons and rick rack with tree ornaments tied into the curled trims.

Her favorite color is green. When I was little, I told my mom we should start collecting something green for Aunt Laurie, and Mom asked what I thought we should collect for her. All I could think of that was green was frogs--poor Aunt Laurie!--so ever since, it has frogs and frog-related things for her. When her times are hard, I am sure to mention that "It's not easy being green," and "Have I toad you lately that I love you?" candy boxes have been known to appear in her mailbox on Valentine's Day.

She is the only person in my family who calls me "Valerie" instead of "Val."

She lives in a gorgeous old white farmhouse with her husband of 42 years and one of my cousins, she loves to garden, she gets a kick out of gnomes, and Lily of the Valley is her favorite flower.

The first gift I remember ever receiving from her was a lavender unicorn-covered diary I got for Christmas in the third grade. I still have it. For my birthday last May, she took me and my mom out for breakfast and presented me with a Rose afterward. While I was home in July, she threw me a mini bridal shower in the dining room with my mom and cousins present.

Aunt Laurie hates to be called "cute," always envisioning herself more like a sexy Ann-Margret, of whom she used to keep scrapbooks. (Aunt Laurie was thrilled when I performed in my high school's production of Bye Bye Birdie, and she and Mom reminisced all that spring about the songs and movies from their own high school years.) Aunt Laurie really is adorable, though, and even now that she is retired and has a granddaughter in high school, she still gets called "Honey" and "Sweetie" and "Sweetheart" by sales clerks and other strangers and has that air about her that makes people want to pinch her cheeks and cuddle her.

She lived across the street from my family for a few years while I was growing up, and I remember one Christmas, my mom, my cousins, and I were sitting in her living room while my mom read some silly magazine personality quiz to Aunt Laurie. "You want to go Christmas caroling with the neighbors," my mom read aloud, "but you know your singing voice isn't the greatest. Do you A.) go anyway or B.) stay home?" "Well, shoot, I'd go!" my aunt cried out in a surprisingly indignant tone, shocking my mom and making us all laugh at her unexpected response. "What do I care what they think? They don't have to like it!" It is probably twenty-five years since that conversation and I still can't hear mention of Christmas caroling without remembering Aunt Laurie's uncharacteristic outburst (and her younger sister's surprise at her boldness) and smiling.

When I was twenty years old, I mentioned during one visit that I had a small success to report. I had finally stopped biting my nails, was all, but before I could go on to explain that, Aunt Laurie quietly said, "Ah! That's good, Valerie. Small successes are good." :) She was proud of me for losing a lot of weight a few years ago but was happier to hear that I was happy and loving my life again after a number of years of not loving it very much at all. "Oh, Valerie, that's WONDERFUL!" I can hear her exclaim at every mention of something that I'm excited about.

Neither she nor I can easily stop laughing once we get started, and Aunt Laurie starts slapping her knee when she really gets going, which makes everything even funnier. In 2003, the subject of hair dyes came up while she, Mom, and I were hanging out looking at magazines over tea and coffee, and I mentioned that when Marilyn Monroe had been asked if she minded that people thought she was dumb because she was blonde, she had responded, "No, because I know I'm not dumb. I also know I'm not really blonde." Aunt Laurie loved that, being a brunette-turned-blonde herself, and laughed and laughed.

She adored her grandparents, has been with my uncle since high school, and is best friends with my mom, who rightfully calls her "Lovey."
 
Although there are phone calls and visits, as well, it is the letters that have kept us close over the years, each parcel of news and magazine clippings and recipes and dreams and quotes and fall leaves and frog stickers tying our ties a little tighter. My pen pal since childhood, Aunt Laurie can always be counted on to stay in touch, and that is no small thing to say about someone. Her jack-o-lantern-covered Halloween mail is smiling at me from a bookshelf this morning, and this year's November mail will soon be winging its way across the state to her, Kermit the Frog Macy's Thanksgiving Day Day Parade float pictures gracing the envelope. :)