Amy Lu's View

I failed spectacularly at preparing for our recent “Big Vacation,” at least when it came to having functional hiking boots. 

I can’t blame my poor performance on lack of time or knowledge. Chad and I had been planning our Salish Sea UnCruise vacation since Christmas 2019. I had plenty of time to prepare for our vacation. I had ample opportunity to procure the clothes and supplies I needed to vacation successfully. 

Yes, there were many times when I thought we would never ever be actually able to go on the vacation because of Covid–we were originally supposed to go in May 2020 to celebrate our 25th Anniversary and 50th birthdays and we rescheduled twice–but still, in the midst of time-consuming Covid-related anxiety and disappointment, I had time.

I discovered my potentially disastrous mistake on the day we were about to go on the Big Hike on Orcas Island. 

Every day we went on some type of hike, but his was was billed as one of the more demanding hikes of the trip. We were going to hike 2,409 foot-high Mount Constitution.  

But first, we would have a chance to look around the historic Moran Mansion. 

We got out of the skiff boat that we took from our Safari Quest to the pier, and I almost tripped. My tripping isn’t surprising in and of itself, but something was amiss. Something was hanging off of my right foot. I was making a flapping sound when I walked. 

I stopped. I looked at my boot. I realized the sole was coming off. 

I simultaneously experienced a panic attack and the grips of depression. What could I do? Okay, okay, I can make this work, I told myself. I’m resourceful, I’m determined, I’m tough. I am NOT missing this f$%cking hike. I had a plan, I need to follow the plan and prove that I’m a bad-ass hiker (at least by the standards of this trip), plus it is supposed to be beautiful and actually promises to burn some calories. 

I tried to hold my sole and boot together with a rubber hair tie. 

This lasted for about 2 minutes. 

Our island tour guide for the day, Bethany (who was amazing and worth a blog post just about her), encouraged me by saying something similar happened to her once and I could “Leave my  sole on the trail.”

Yeah, that was cute and funny and inspirational, but I was pretty sure trying to hike this trail with  non-intact footwear would be slippery and dangerous. So Bethany suggested I ask the mansion/resort staff for duct tape. 

I did, and the staff was super helpful and nice and gave me some duct tape, and Chad tried to tape up my boot, but it was soon clear that it was hopeless.

I feared all was lost, when our tour guide Daimar stopped by and we eventually realized that there was still time for one of the crew members to get back to our boat and grab my tennis shoes for the hike. Before long I had my tennis shoes and the hike commenced. (Yes, the hike was pretty, and rather challenging–it WOULD have been disastrous with one damaged boot– and cold and rainy, and I probably burned the caloric equivalent of a Manhattan and a glass of wine).

I was highly embarrassed by my misadventure, especially since it was all caused by my own bad decisions. Yes, I do usually love attention and often pride myself on not having shame when I do something uncool, but I don’t like attention for causing a situation that makes me sad AND inconveniences others.

I totally could have prevented this: My boots were over ten years old and had already hiked around Scotland–how did it not occur to me to check their condition before we went on our trip? Especially as Chad has just noticed that his boots–the same age as mine– were in bad shape right before we left and we spent time in Seattle making sure he had a new pair. 

I also felt guilty because my dissolving boot sole left a trail of debris in the mansion/resort that the kind and helpful staff had to clean up. 

Although cringe-inducing, I guess my boot debacle wasn’t that surprising. I have never been great at packing. I put a lot of thought into it, but I usually feel like I haven’t packed the right clothes–yes, I can get by, I’m not walking around naked, but what I bring with me is usually too casual or too dressy or not right for the weather. 

I actually did do somewhat better on this vacation. Hiking boots aside, I was 75 percent content with the clothing I packed. And I tried to have appropriate clothing, I really did. I was mostly stymied about having functional hiking pants that wouldn’t make me cry because of the havoc wearing them wrought on my self-esteem. I have never found a pair of hiking pants that don’t make me feel squishy in all the wrong ways. 

My main overall complaint is that I did not pack clothing that was warm enough. Yes, I knew that my primary vacation activity would be frolicking in the wet and cold Northwest so, again, I don’t have anyone but myself to blame. But oh, there were times I longed for gloves and a hat. 

But back to my boot story–it DID have a happy ending, and I’m so appreciative of the crew member who got my tennis shoes, and Daimar, and Bethany, and the resort staff, and my fellow passengers who good-naturedly teased me a bit.

And of course, to Chad, who valiantly tried to save the day with Duct Tape. 

Like many people, eating is a big part of my vacation experience. (Yes, eating is also a big part of my routine normal life experience, but the context is different). Eating new food and eating in new places, as well as eating familiar food in new places, is part of the fun of vacation. 

The flip side of that is deciding what and where to eat without going wild on calorie intake when presented with so many new choices can be pretty overwhelming. For me, the pressure to make THE best choice can make me grumpy and agitated, and I have to stop and remind myself “Hey, you are supposed to be ENJOYING yourself here!” 

Not only is having to make new decisions about eating hard for me, but feeling like I’m not totally in control of when and where and what I eat makes me twitchy. 

With all these ingredients in my head just waiting to be transformed into an agita souffle (see what I did there with the food references…), I’m grateful that I had good to awesome partaking experiences while on vacation. 

I especially appreciated the dining on the boat while un-cruising. All the meals and snacks were yummy, and there was always a vegetarian and fish option (I usually choose vegetarian but gave in to the siren call of seafood sometimes). Every morning at breakfast (there was a daily breakfast special but we could also have basically whatever we wanted) we got to “order” our meals for the rest of the day. Having my food choices all mapped out for me for the rest of the day was a great comfort to my over-planning (especially when it comes to food) soul. 

We even had our own unofficial special dining spot on the boat. Most meals, we ate at a breakfast bar in the lounge rather than in the dining room with everyone else. Yes, this habit did start from us being anti-social and not up to making conversation, but soon it became known as our spot. Maybe nobody else wanted to sit there but we especially liked it because it was close to the coffee. Most appealing, it was much quieter than the dining room so we could really appreciate that we weren’t chatting with each other. Okay, I may be playing up our standoffishness a bit–there was another table in the lounge and we did have other folks join us there occasionally, and we did sometimes sit with groups in the loungd, and we were quite friendly and charming. Really.

I even, more or less, successfully lived in the world without constantly snacking while on the boat. It felt a bit like chip rehab. Disappointingly, I have not been able to transfer this sensible approach to snacks (mostly chips and crackers) to life on the land. The other profound lesson I learned about eating while on the boat that I haven’t implemented in my daily life is that I can be very happy with eating smallish portions of real food (as opposed to large portions of “low calorie” food).  

We embraced the real, whole bread so enthusiastically that the ship’s pastry chef admiringly said that the two of us were in the top consumers of bread in the ship’s history. 

I ate dessert at every lunch and dinner. (That sounds like that could be on a plaque that Dr. Rick would make a Millenial throw away in a Progressive ad). 

In contrast to all my apprehension about vacation eating, I was confident that I could happily drink and I was not disappointed. The boat bar was small but well appointed. Every day at Happy Hour there was a new featured drink that I usually tried, in addition to any classic beverage I could hope for. They even had one of Chad’s favorite Scotches, Coal Ila.

There’s not too much more I can reasonably or effectively say about my intake of food and beverage while on vacation, so see the photo gallery above for some haphazardly shared and poorly captioned photos. I’m not an adept food photographer so some photos may look unappealing but I found all the dishes and drinks delicious. 

And I need to wrap this up to get some snacks.

I had the day off and I watched a movie at home via Amazon Prime all by myself!

This is an occasion of note (and blogging) for many reasons:

• I rarely operate our TV on my own (that’s Chad’s job)
• I/we rarely watch movies (we watch a lot of episodic TV shows) 
• I rarely watch a movie–or anything–without Chad, but he had to work today (he even was AT work) and while he would probably enjoy “Yesterday,” he’s okay with missing it.
• I did not do anything else while watching the movie. I was not using my phone in any way (this is monumental as I’m always on my phone–usually shopping or on social media– when we watch TV).
• I only had to stop the movie once for a bathroom/stretch/put the laundry in the dryer break. (I frequently stop our TV viewing because I get ansty with sitting)

This most magical movie I watched was 2019’s “Yesterday,” about Jack, an aspiring musician, who wakes up after an accident to a world where he is the only person who remembers the Beatles (and interestingly, also Coke). This has been on my “to-watch” list since it came out (as you can imagine, my “to-watch list is quite long since I rarely watch movies).  Also interesting to think about how he can recreate the music of the Beatles, but of course, one person can’t bring back Coke (or maybe he could have? Maybe that’s the sequel?)

I’m not an aspiring movie critic or blogger (I’m about as good as describing movies as I am food) so I’ll mostly just say I loved it. It was sweet and funny and romantic and thoroughly delighted this rather ardent Beatles/Paul McCartney fan. It inspired me to think about music and creativity and authenticity and success. 

I’m trying to restrain myself from geeking out and trying to prove my fan cred by sharing my Beatles knowledge–okay, okay, one piece: Paul’s original lyrics to “Yesterday” were “scrambled eggs.”

I’m also thinking about what Beatles songs, assuming I was a talented musician who could play and sing them, I would want to make certain to share with the world. And what lyrics would I be able to remember? Of course, you can’t go wrong with any (most?) Beatles songs, but I think I may have leaned more toward post 1966 music than Jack did.

“Yesterday” also gave me a new awareness of appreciation for Ed Sheeran. I had no idea he was in the movie, and had only a passing knowledge of him. He was super charming in “Yesterday,” so I’m now listening to him while I write this, and learning that yeah, okay, while I wouldn’t be opposed to having more Ed Sheeran in my life, I also don’t feel I’ve been missing out. 

I was also surprised to see the woman from Verizon commercials played our hero’s bitchy manager. When I saw the credits I eventually figured out/guessed that she, Kate McKinnon, is a famous comedian (on SNL? Yes, just confirmed via Google). #NotAwareOfMostCelebrities

Perhaps the most poignant and surreal moment in the movie was–Spoiler Alert–Seeing a peaceful and content 78-year-old John Lennon.

I also have a twitch of a craving now for scrambled eggs. 

“What’s your favorite Shakespeare play?” –audience question asked via chat after our livestreaming performance of “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged).”

“Um, whichever play is the shortest?”–me

I’m just not that into Shakespeare. I’ve been lucky enough to see many high quality and creative productions, and I’ve even been in some Shakespearean or Shakespeare-adjacent shows, but I just don’t get that excited by the Bard. (#ShortAttentionSpan)

But I DID get excited about being in Applause Community Theatre’s “The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (Abridged).” I got excited and terrified and stressed and overwhelmed and joyful and sweaty and proud and thankful. 

This stew of emotions and sensations is pretty typical for me when I’m involved in a theatrical production, but the intensity may have been even higher because 1) this show involved Shakespeare and 2) it involved unknown tech (which I had nothing to do with and can take no credit for, but it was stressful not knowing if anyone would even be able to watch our show via Zoom. Thanks to Connor for making it happen!)

I was also terrified because this show was very physical and complicated, with lots of moving pieces and potential for things to go awry. Although I had generally short lines to deliver, they were interspersed throughout the show so I had lots of opportunities to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, AND to be at the wrong place with the wrong prop.

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“It’s not Shakespeare”–this is one of our typical Chamy acting mantras, meaning that if we screw up some lines it’s not like we’re blaspheming some of the most revered writings in the English language and/or no one is likely to know exactly what our lines are supposed to be. 

But this show WAS Shakespeare–or, at least required us to deliver some of Shakespeare’s actual words. And since I’m so ungrounded in Shakespeare I often wasn’t sure which lines of the play were actually from Shakespeare and which were just written to sound like Shakespeare. 

I DO know that the “What a piece of work is man” monologue that I got to say IS Shakespeare, from “Hamlet.” And it cracks me up because, to me, “What a piece of work is XXXX” is an insult, such as saying “What a piece of work is Amy” after I’ve done/said something particularly needy or vain. But in Hamlet’s monologue, he is genuinely saying “Wow, people are pretty freakin’ awesome”–and then goes on to say, “And I’m still depressed as f#$k.” It’s such a powerful monologue because Hamlet can intellectually see all this beauty and wonder in life but can’t actually feel it. 

Yeah, move over “No Fear Shakespeare”…I should launch “No S#%t Shakespeare.”

Yes, I could have done some research (or even a small amount of Googling) and learned about the source plays that our play was spoofing. And I did do some learning–in fact I just looked up one of my favorite lines in our play, “They [the audience] don’t know Shakespeare from Shinola.” Now, I was familiar with the original saying (“They don’t know s#$t from Shinola) but just learned that Shinola was shoe polish.

So I may not know much about Shakeaspeare (or shoe polish) but I do know that I am so lucky that I got to do live and mostly in-person theater again with awesome and supportive and talented and hardworking co-stars. And we’re so lucky that we had a small live audience/”extras” with us in the theater and that folks from near and far tuned in to watch us (even if they are so over Zoom). And we’re all so lucky for our brave and visionary and optimistic director, Gary, who made it all possible.

The more I think about it, I like the idea of people and plays and relationships as work–not just in the Hamlet sense that they’re amazing or the Amy sense that they’re annoying, but that we/they take effort and are constantly evolving.

I AM a piece of work, and so are you. I bet Shakespeare was, too.

When I played the game Risk with my brother as a kid, he would sing a little original tune when he moved his armies from one continent to another: “Oh we’re going on a boat, and we’re never coming back..” (YES, I’m still shocked by this, but I DID play a game as a kid…and a long and involved strategy game at that!). 

It was such a catchy little ditty that it’s remained in my head my whole life. So no surprise, that song popped into my head as we planned our vacation aboard a boat. But I was surprised to hear Chad sing the song as we were telling someone about our vacation! I guess the song has not only lived in my head–Chad’s been treated to me singing it throughout the years. 

So we did go on a boat, but unlike the imaginary Risk soldiers of my childhood, we DID come back. We had to come back so that I could blog about our trip.

The boat we went on was not a typical cruise ship. We sailed on the Safari Quest, a 120 feet long, 29 feet wide vessel. The boat had 11 cabins and could hold up to 22 passengers (I think we had 20 passengers, including us). We also had 10 crew members. To state the obvious, it was small. 

I’ve never been on any type of cruise before, but I’m pretty sure this expedition was very different. It may seem a little corny that the name of the company is “UnCruise” but I think they lived up to their moniker. According to the Google, the average cruise ship is 1,000 feet long (we saw some in Seattle and they looked immense). The small size of our ship impacted everything about the experience–and for us, positively.

People have asked some great questions about what the boat was like. Here are some photos to try and capture the details.

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(Okay, I would have liked to have had an actual workout room and not just an old exercise bike that was on the top deck and exposed to wind, but I could almost convince myself that I burned sufficient calories everyday through hiking). 

Because the Safari Quest was so small, we could visit Islands without a port and use a skiff boat to get to them. We also got to know every other passenger, which was awesome AND entertaining (hopefully more about that later). 

We also did feel the boat rocking to an extent that I don’t think passengers on cruise ships  typically do–just on one occasion, but one memorable occasion. Okay, again, I don’t have anything else to compare it to, but the motion was so significant that I don’t think I could have easily stood up without hanging on to something. Luckily, I wasn’t trying to stand up, I was just trying to lie in bed as it was 4:00 in the morning. Our awesome captain planned this. She could tell we had “Rough seas ahead” (a John Price original song performed by our band Pigeons that was looping in my head) so planned for us to brave them at 4:00 in the morning–when hopefully we would all be in bed (and at least not during dinner). 

I wasn’t worried about seasickness–Chad is the one with the history of motion sickness. But I was a little anxious during our early morning adventure. It wasn’t so bad in and of itself, but, me being me, I kept worrying that it might get worse and I might need to throw up. It was also impossible to sleep through. And yes, alcohol consumption might have been a factor. 

The Safari Quest was only our home for a week, but I don’t think I’ll ever completely forget it. I don’t think I’ll ever entirely come back.

Today is the twenty-first anniversary of my mom’s death. 

I didn’t do anything in particular to observe it. I did frequently think, “DAMN, it’s been TWENTY-ONE years?! I really miss her and can’t believe it’s been so long since she’s been part of my life.* I also can’t believe how old I’m getting.”

I didn’t specifically commemorate my mom today, but I did run a half marathon. It was virtual, which meant I actually ran it in the physical world, but I didn’t run it as part of an event with others. I ran the race today because I needed to get it finished by the end of the month and this was the only day I could take a morning off from work and play rehearsal and church to make it happen. 

Even though there is no direct connection for me between running and my mom, I did stop to reflect a little bit on how fortunate I am that I was able to take some time for myself on this sad day to do something just for me. I did my best to savor the beauty of the fall colors of the trees on a day when the beauty and ephemerality of the natural world was a poignant symbol for how I was experiencing a core human relationship. I also feel really blessed that I am healthy enough to run and was especially aware of this on a day when illness (cancer) ended my mom’s life.

I’ve also been pondering how my mom would react to my running. Overall, I don’t think she would get it. I’m sure she would be very worried about my knees or that I might get mugged. She would probably talk about my “10K Marathons.” I don’t think I could possibly explain a “virtual” race to her. But I’m sure she would still be proud, and would never tire of looking at my latest medal. She would probably tell anyone she could about all the races her daughter had won (just to be clear, this would not be true–all finishers get medals). 

While it’s hard for me to imagine my mom and I bonding over running, we could now bond over alcohol. I could intentionally toast to my mother with a Brandy Alexander (or a Grasshopper). Yes, she held up the traditional Wisconsin love of ice cream based supper club cocktails. If she was alive and it was feasible to do so, I definitely would enjoy one of these magical concoctions with her. But for present day Amy sans mom, making or acquiring such a treat is too much work (and too many calories). 

But I WILL have some straight brandy tonight…and some low-calorie Halo ice cream (in roughly the same time period but not actually together). Which yes, basically makes it a night–it’s not always brandy but I almost always have some hard booze to accompany my nightly Halo. My mom would not understand this but she would be happy if it made me happy (which it does). 

So yeah, my mom’s spirit would now be legally able to go into a Wisconsin supper club (or hipster supper club somewhere else) and buy a Brandy Alexander. And no, I don’t actually believe in ghosts but it was an observation/very on-brand Amy “joke” I didn’t want to resist making. 

*This is an incomplete statement. My mom is NOT part of my life as a living breathing embodied entity I can interact with, and this is a huge void that I don’t want to minimize, but she is still part of my life in that I continue to think about her–both my memories of her and my imaginings of what she would say and how she would react if she was alive. But trying to capture all this in the original paragraph interrupted the flow of my writing.

Sometimes it really does feel like all the world’s a stage, or at least that an audience can pop up at any time. 

Our band Pigeons From Hell played an impromptu concert this weekend–okay, only for two people and only for about twenty minutes–and it was awesome. 

As a literal garage band, we were in the midst of our mostly weekly Friday night rehearsal in our lead guitarist’s garage, when a car stopped in the alley. We all immediately thought “Uh-Oh…” We’re we going to be yelled at for being too loud? We actually had the cops called on us a couple of years ago at the South Minneapolis neighborhood Porch Fest, so have some basis for this fear. 

But no, we weren’t in trouble…the woman driving the car said they had heard music and so were driving around looking for the source, and wanted to know if it was okay if they stopped and listened to us. 

Of course it was okay, and after a song or so we invited them to hang out on the patio so they’d be more comfortable. They listened to a total of three or four songs (including Chad’s original “Naked” and a cover of Lone Justice’s “Shelter”) and said they thought we were great. They even clapped. 

They asked where we played, and we said “here” (as in the garage) but listed a few of our venues from the Before Times (Driftwood Char Bar, Acadia). As they left they said they hoped to catch us again. 

We don’t know for sure how they found us–were they people from the neighborhood? Visiting some friends or in the area for one of the high school sports ball events? (We couldn’t really see them as it was dark). 

It was a random and beautiful moment of connection with strangers–something that probably wouldn’t have happened before we were vaccinated. 

It was also our first performance since Covid (unless we count the cyclists who stopped by a couple of weeks ago), and our first performance of the latest version of our band–Pigeons From Hell 4.0. 

Yes, Pigeons from Hell has yet another lineup, with the biggest change that I’m now on drums, instead of keyboards. Why? Our most recent drummer and drummer #3, Tom, who is an amazing drummer, understandably decided he needed more time for other things. So I finally decided to let go of my career as a Linda McCartney (keyboardist for Wings) and go back to my home instrument of drums. 

And I LOVE it. Yes, I miss the keys, and I definitely appreciate my time playing them and how I had the chance to grow my keyboard mojo, but playing drums now feels so very right. It feels right for me, and right for the times, and the boys of the band are doing an admirable job of adapting to a new drummer and my quirks (I basically have a three grove repertoire and cannot be reliably counted on to end a song the same way twice in a row). 

Pigeons From Hell current lineup:

• Mike Trench: lead guitarist, vocalist, songwriter, garage/rehearsal space owner
• Chad Snyder: guitarist, bassist, lead vocalist, songwriter, mandolinist, provider of witty acerbic remarks
• John Price: guitarist, bassist, lead vocalist, songwriter, provider of witty interstitial banter
• Amy Luedtke: drummer, lead vocalist, consumer of canned wine cocktails

I’ve also discovered that I can regularly drum AND sing lead (for at least three of the songs in our set). Maybe I’m moving from my Linda McCartney phase to aspiring to be Karen Carpenter.

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Whatever version of the band we are or may be, playing for other people is magical (and somewhat terrifying–yes, I was nervous about having an audience of two!). Playing for each other and for ourselves is the heart of making music, but adding the experience for playing others is–well, I can’t think of a good metaphor or analogy or description (which is one of the many reasons I am the only band member who has not written my own song/s) so I just have to settle for saying it’s really cool. 

Speaking of songwriting…not only do we have a pretty different lineup from when we started as a Twin Town Guitars student band covering The Pretenders (as in Chrissie Hynde and the) we now play several original songs and a wide variety of covers. Currently, we only do two covers of The Pretenders songs. (Trivia question: where does our band title come from?)

“Circumstance beyond our control,

The phone, the TV and the news of the world

Got in the house like a pigeon from hell,

Threw sand in our eyes and descended like flies”

“Back on the Chain Gang,” The Pretenders

If you’ve made it this far in this post, you must be wondering how and where you can catch a Pigeons From Hell performance. We actually do have a gig coming up (hopefully for more than two people) but it’s for a private corporate event (thanks to John’s connections). But it’s not too early for you to think about if you, yes you, could host a backyard or garage Pigeons show next year as soon as the weather gets nice (the cops probably won’t get called). And maybe, just maybe, Covid will start getting less scary and we’ll be able to perform indoors somewhere with walls and everything. 

And…maybe, just maybe, we’ll spend some time in the garage this winter when it’s not too cold and might even record an original song or two. Maybe we’ll even come up with an original song about Pigeons.

I don’t want summer to end. 

Yes, there are many delights of fall. And this has been a rather crappy summer–just in terms of weather and environment alone, with the heat wave and the drought and the bad air quality caused by wildfire smoke. 

I’m not even that much of a summer person–I don’t hang out at the beach or by the pool or go up to the cabin or go camping. Even in the before times I rarely did cookouts or summer festivals/fairs or road trips. I don’t go to ball games. I absolutely don’t garden or do yardwork. I hate bugs and thunderstorms.

But I love the long days of summer and the hours and hours of daylight. I’m still amazed that we get almost 16 hours of daylight at the summer solstice. Just the idea of all that light is somewhat intoxicating.  

Actually the very idea of summer is intoxicating, and maybe what I really love. I want to bask in  what summer represents (at least to me)–possibility, freedom, ease, growth, celebration, beauty, relaxation, indulgence.

And I had such high hopes for this summer–as many of us had. I was going to reconnect with so many people that I hadn’t been able to see in person, and do so many things–concerts, dining out–that Covid had squelched. 

Many of my hopes and dreams for this summer did come true, and it was wonderful, and I`m so thankful. But of course, I couldn’t do everything or see everyone I wanted to. Even without Delta, my expectations for what I could reasonably fit in–especially after months of not having a packed schedule and wanting to avoid jumping back into that–were unrealistic. 

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I can’t make summer last no matter how much I try. Clinging to summer will only get messy and sad and a little scary, just like when Toad tries to run with melting ice cream cones in the aptly titled story “Ice Cream.”* 

Toad’s intentions are good–he’s just trying to bring a little joy, in the form of an ice cream cone, to his waiting friend Frog. But not only does the ice cream cone melt before he makes it to Frog, Toad ends up a sticky mess mistaken for a monster by the other animal he encounters. 

Luckily, Frog isn’t phased (no crying over melted ice cream) and just suggests that they go get two more cones together and enjoy them in the shade. 

I can’t just go an order another summer, but I can fondly remember the summer I’ve just had, and do my damndest to appreciate its fading bits (there is still light and this is some of the most gorgeous weather we’ve had) and savor the approaching fall. And I can do my best to enjoy these delights together–with Chad, with StanLee, with friends and family (in 3D and 2D) and blog readers. 

And I can still keep eating too much “low-fat” Halo ice cream. 

*I’m back to writing inspired about “Frog and Toad” stories–I THINK I only have 4 more to go!

I’m amazed by how many letters my friends and I used to write each other in the eighties/early nineties.

Yes, forget emails and don’t even think about texts–these were actual letters handwritten (okay a few were typed) on paper. Not quite papyrus scrolls or stone tablets but almost.

I don’t want to turn this into a rant about the demise of letter writing. I DO think something has been lost as we’ve collectively turned away from letter writing, but I’m not sure what it is. Certainly there is a physicality to handwriting that captures a unique aspect of a person. Seeing the handwriting of someone, especially someone deceased, powerfully and viscerally evokes their presence.

There must also be something special about the timing of the letter writing process: I throw this monologue out into the world with hope that you’ll respond with your own. I just have to wait–days, weeks, months? 

Maybe you’ll answer questions I’ve posed or just write about whatever you feel like. Maybe you’ll take time and write a flowery and eloquent missive worthy of a Ken Burns documentary or just scribble down a few thoughts or an update.

I’m sure letter writing is unique–not necessarily better than all our other current communication methods but definitely different.

I do think letters are surprisingly intimate, even when they’re not necessarily intended to be. I can’t imagine emails or phone calls or face-to-face conversations being as routinely revealing of people’s inner lives. Or maybe the thoughts expressed just seem more weighty because they are more permanent–not just “on the record” (as my friend Mark once advised don’t ever put anything in writing because it can be used against you) but rooted in the physical world. 

Maybe people feel safer or bolder when expressing themselves in a letter, as it is a solitary experience–you can’t see the other person’s reactions and they can’t interrupt you.

So I’m a little thrown by all the letters I uncovered in the midst of another personal possession purge. Even the mundane letters feel a little too intimate. I couldn’t read them all in one sitting due to time and emotional limits.

I also completely forgot how many letters I received (and presumably sent). Not just from close friends or friends who were traveling, but more casual college friends living at home again during the summer.

And maybe I was a little stalky? I definitely got some “okay I’m responding to your letter so relax” vibes.

I even had some pen pals–people I never actually met in person.

I also found a few angsty unsent letters that I wrote that were cringe inducing. Thank heavens I didn’t send them, but it makes me a little nervous about the ones I did send. 

I guess the big takeaways are that I’m amazed by how deep some of my friendships were when I was young. I don’t know if this is attributed to youth or a pre-social media world, but it’s lovely and makes me a little uncomfortable and wistful. I’m also surprised and humbled by the scope of my social connections. People who I haven’t thought about in years– decades really–came back to life in my mind as I held and read their letters.

It almost feels like magic–you unwrap a piece of paper and a person appears. All without a selfie.

Today I finished packing up all my belongings from my onsite work office. 

I may have to go back and do some cleaning and dusting and paper clip redistribution, but this great task of transition is essentially complete. 

Surprisingly, I feel less overwhelmed than after my first session of moving. Yes, I still haven’t touched any of the papers and paraphernalia that I brought home two weeks ago and dumped in my home office, but today I only brought one more box home. I feel like I was quite successful this time in making hard choices and recycling (and sadly, throwing away) stuff I know I’m not ever going to use or need, despite sentimental attachment.  

Today I took a deep dive into the mementos of my tenure as a youth services librarian. From roughly 2001-2005, my professional speciality was the world of childhood literacy–storytime and fingerplays and picture books and book clubs and so forth. Before that, I also was an assistant in the children’s section of the Cedar Rapids Public Library, so I accumulated a LOT of storytime resources. 

I loved being a youth services librarian (although it was not something I wanted to do for my entire working life) and I fondly looked at all my storytime plans and accessories before recycling them. 

Any observant and regular readers of my blog may be asking–”Didn’t you write in your last post about office clean-up that you couldn’t part with your storytime keepsakes?”

Yes, indeed, so I guess I was in a different headspace today–and I may have been inspired by finding my flannel board story pieces. (If you don’t know what a flannel board story is, please Google it or use a time machine to transport you back to the seventies. Actually, surprisingly and charmingly, flannel boards apparently are still a thing and you can even find YouTube videos on how to make and use them).

Finding these goofy artifacts may have been just what I needed to convince me that I could let go of some of my storytime related memorabilia. 

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These clowns are hysterical. And rather frightening. They look drunk and slightly menacing. I hope they didn’t send any children to therapy. 

I may be creative, I may be musical, I may be theatrical, I may even be artistic–but I am not crafty. Maybe I will be someday, but so far in my journey, that has not been me. There is clearly a reason I usually did my storytimes with limited props. (I think to the dismay of my very crafty sister, who was always more than willing to help me up my storytime game).

It was hard to recycle the many handmade thank you cards I received from various children (usually from visiting school groups), but I reminded myself I didn’t actually remember the individual children and they are probably now in their thirties, so I let the cards go. I DID save a card I got from a grandmother who was a regular storytime attendee along with her grandaughter, Bryn. Seeing 3-year-old Bryn every week at storytime sharing the experience with her grandparents always warmed my heart (my grandparents used to take me to Menards).

Who knows, maybe Bryn grew up to be a librarian…or a clown?