Dear You,
I would like to tell you about something. This is a letter to you about me, and who I am now, and where I came from. I hope that this letter will serve its’ purpose by bringing us closer and shedding a little light on why I do what I do. I cannot even begin to tell you about me without first telling you about my mother. For she is me, in the same way you will one day look into a mirror and see that you are me. Relax; it’s not that bad. She is the most honest, courageous, and craziest person I know. Our relationship is amazing and I can only pray ours echoes that, and even if we’re just ok friends I’ll be happy. But Elsa and I are best friends. She is one of the few people in the world this half-hearted conspiracy theorist trusts. We have certainly made the trip together. And it has all been worth it. I hope like hell you get the chance to meet her, but if you don’t, know that she would have loved you from the instant she set eyes on you, much like I do. And if you don’t ever have the privilege of meeting Elsa, I know you will feel her presence surrounding you in your times of need. She smells of jasmine and vanilla, a little on the musky side. And she feels warm and soft, the way the sun feels at the levee just before dusk. I told you this so if you’re down, and you think you’re alone, and you smell something sweet, you’ll know she’s with you. Her light shines just as bright now at 50, then it did when she was 25, perhaps brighter. I can only hope my light shines as bright and that yours does the same. But that is all circumstantial and I hate speaking of my mother in the past, like she is gone when she is not. I think it’s bad luck. So now I’ll tell you my story. I won’t wax poetic for ages, and I’ll try not to bore you to sleep. Although, I can picture your beautiful face as you sleep, smiling softly and perhaps sucking your tiny thumb, maybe my old blanket at your side.
I grew up in Decatur, Georgia, the only daughter of a graphic designer and a stained glass artist. My childhood friends were a blessing. I say that because no childhood is perfectly happy, a fact I’m sure you’ve learned by now. Why is it that everyone thinks childhood should be heaven on earth? Isn’t that a testament to the very nature of the world? Perhaps it is because while you are little, it is your parents’ job to hold up the weight of the world so it doesn’t crush your dreams. I hope I have succeeded with you. I’m getting emotional, here. If you know me at all by now, you know that I am uber-sensitive. Actually, I just thought of something. If you know me at all, then you know Elsa. Because like I said before, she is me. There are certain memories I would like to record for you so just bear with me. They might not make any sense, but I feel I can capture them better with images, and sounds, and smells, than trying to recreate scenes. First of all there is that famous Georgia red clay, so wet and sticky it stains your fingers. There are pine needles; crunchy and abundant underneath your feet like a blanket to shelter the clay. There is the way the sun filters through the trees on your face, and this is something I’ve been struggling with in my writing for a while. Hopefully, by the time you read this I will have managed to record it accurately. The best way I know how to describe it now is like a disco ball. The light trickles down through the canopy, through the branches, and birds, and leaves, and bugs, and finally tickles your face with light. I don’t know, hopefully you get the idea. There are nursery rhymes and bouncing knee games, and songs about the sea. There are lullabies, and blankets, make-up and dresses, dolls and stuffed animals, bows and ringlets. There were and still are long nights of dancing and laughing and talking with my mother. They are the remnants from the little girl inside of me. I pluck them from my head cautiously. Like the way you root through a devastated house after a major hurricane in which you lost everything but a couple sodden photographs and a few muddy dolls. This is sad imagery but maybe now that you are older you will identify with the bittersweet way one looks at something that is gone forever. I was a bossy little princess, and I loved to have my way. Not much has changed since then. My parents always supported me through every endeavor and I am so lucky. I’ve been through some humbling experiences though, the first one being my parents’ divorce and the following custody battle. It hit me hard and I hope you never have to go through something like that ever. If I haven’t succeeded in protecting you from that level of hurt and shame, I deserve every one of those names you called me when you were a bratty teenager. The entire ordeal is another story and I’m sure I will record it sometime soon. Truthfully, it still hurts to think of. I’m doing the only thing I can, and that’s moving on. Family was and still is now, so important to me. Probably the most important thing. Your grandfathers’ family is such a big, close-knit, stereotypical Southern family; it is both comforting and stifling. All I can say is it is truly a blessing to have so many people care about you no matter how many good boyfriends you dump, or cheat on, or how many jobs you lose due to your wild partying. They were a blessing and a curse. But I’m grateful for them no matter what, and hope that you stay in touch with whatever family we have now. These are to be things you don’t know. I must admit, I feel a little forlorn knowing you will never hear your great grandmother playing the piano, or her mother before her. There is something ancient and beloved about the sound of a piano. About your paternal great-grandparents, I could tell you about the smell of biscuits baking in the morning and chicken frying in the evening. I could go on and on about heaping bowls of ice cream right before bed time, and purposefully awful renditions of “The Tennessee Waltz” as an alarm clock. But all the “hidden” candy drawers and Baptist Sunday school classes in the world would not reveal anything to you and again, that is another story. Your maternal great-grandparents however, would have to be a novel. But I’ll try and give you some imagery to help you. Graber olives- oh, how I hope you get to taste that on your tongue-, the rough tickle of stubble on Papa’s cheek or his scratchy voice. You may never know of Mr. Cat, who weighed nearly fifty pounds and could extend the recliner foot just by jumping on the back of the chair. There are these frogs-yes, tiny miniature frogs-that infested the house and used to provide endless hours of counting fun for my cousins and I. And tiny cocktail glasses and late nights on satin sheets, and singing and dancing, and makeovers.
I also want to tell you briefly about the men who’ve shaped my life. And just so you know: No, they never grow up. But your grandfather is amazing man. He is hard working, sweet, caring and generous. I’ll tell you this short story my mom told me, it will do much to explain his character, I hope. They were still dating, not yet married and it was raining violently. They came upon an accident in which a woman had been thrown from her vehicle and lay in the middle of the street. She was waiting for the ambulance and could not move, nor could anyone move her for she might have broken bones. My dad got out of the car and took off his jacket and covered the poor woman with it. Then he got back in the car and drove away. I think you see, now but I still want to tell you this other story my stepmother told me. It contrasts nicely. They were on their first date, and he was driving her fast, little red sports car and it was raining-these stories are remarkably similar, no? - and he was pulling into her apartment complex and said, “watch this!” and promptly wrecked her car trying to park it like some stunt driver. See? I think these two stories speak much of his character. I know he will cherish you and spoil you rotten. If he seems like a hard-ass at times, well, he is. But it’s cause he means well and he loves you. The other man is my step-dad. I hope you come to know him too. He is remarkable and everyone loves him madly. He’s funnier than anything, and warm, and gentle, and smart. I’ll tell you this joke that he told me once that had my dumb 14 year-old ass cracking up, but you probably won’t find it funny: Two penguins were sitting in the bathtub and one turns to the other and says ‘please pass me the soap’. The other says ‘what do I look like, a typewriter? That’s it, that’s the punch line, take it or leave it. It’s funny to watch people react differently to it. He’s been the glue that held our tiny family together. When my moody mother and her moody daughter could not get along, he kept us sane. He can always make you laugh and I used to relish in our after-dinner conversations. Without him, I can honestly say I would have missed out. I owe him my profound gratitude, and love him deeply. Every person I have ever met has shaped my life in some form or fashion, so choose your friends wisely, my child. Surround yourself with only people who recognize and love you for who you are. And I’ll end there, hoping that you know a little about how they were, and who they were, and how I remember them, and why they should be revered and appreciated. And maybe a little about where you came from too, for to know yourself is to know everything about you. Where you came from and where you’re going and everything in between.
But who really knows where they’re going? I didn’t and still don’t. How can we ever really know? I’ve worn many hats, worked many jobs, and aspired to be many things. I’ve worked at sandwich shops, grocery stores, movie theatres, offices, and gift shops. I’ve been a cocktail waitress, a fancy schmancy server, and a bartender. I’ve wanted to be an interior decorator, a fashion designer, a veterinarian, and a writer. Do I know where I am going? No. Have I ever? Not really. But I do want to be something and I think that’s important. You don’t have to have your grandfather’s ambition, or your grandmother’s artistic vision, but if you only aspire to be great, greatness will inevitably follow you. As I sit here, typing a letter to someone I’ve never even met before, I feel like for the first time in my life, I’m onto something. If you try and fail, big deal. You’re not the first. Just pick up and dust off and try not to whine too much. But if you never try at all, if you let the fear take you, you’ve lost before you’ve even begun. I’m still struggling with the fear even now. I’m scared I’ll submit thousands of stories and not one of them will ever get published. It’s a never-ending battle of self-abuse that everyone struggles with everyday. I heard someone say once that the most successful people are not necessarily the greatest, only the most driven. Your grandfather would have smiled and nodded. I wish I could tell you more about your father but seeing as how I don’t even know who he is yet, I find it most difficult. I hope he challenges me like I need to be. I have a very short relationship attention span. I hope the man you fall in love with does the same for you. I hope he loves you and cherishes you like the gift from heaven you are, and that he makes you laugh. I hope you love yourself enough to love someone else fully.
I think this is making me go crazy. Do you think I am crazy like I thought my mother was? If you knew at 21 though, what I know now at 25, well you are a genius. Although I know you probably will have to make your own mistakes, and form your own story, I know I did. You couldn’t tell me what to do, and still can’t. I have what my mom calls “A Problem with Authority”. Maybe you are laughing now cause you recognize that in yourself. Or maybe you are clicking your teeth and shaking your head critically. I recently got this great piece of advice from this fabulous book called Bird by Bird that I am reading. The author, Anne Lamott said, “Live as if you are dying”. Because you are. I don’t want to end on a somber note like that so I’ll say this to you, my sweet darling baby: Never let your fears get the better of you. It’s okay to have them but acknowledge them, and own them. And don’t smoke, and marry a nice boy and give your poor mother a few grandbabies before she dies…I’m kidding. Hilarious, I know. But by owning your fears and shortcomings-although I’m quite sure you have none-you can conquer them. I love you more than anyone could possibly know, even me right now. And live like you are dying. Go moonlight skinny-dipping, do what you love, and don’t let the man get you down, sistah. Power to the people and all that jazz. Ok, I’m starting to sound like a nut job. I’ll end on this quote from Madonna, one of my heroes. “Recognize and realize that your talents are not yours, you are simply the manager. If you can manage them well, you can succeed at anything.” Or something to that effect. Recognize, realize, and own. And never take yourself too seriously. Laughter is one of the strongest medicines out there. And forgive me for all my faults, and know that I did the best I could with you. And know that you come from a long line of strong, brave women and always honor their faces and memory.
I’m going to go now, little one. I keep calling you that but you’re not little anymore are you? I am going to yoga class and then home to play a video game and maybe watch the finale of American Idol. This has been a fabulous journey and I wouldn’t trade anything in the universe for it. You, little one-no, beautiful woman have an even greater journey in front of you. Sometimes it will be hard, others times it will be magnificent. But I can’t wait to meet you and watch you dance, or play ball, or sing or paint or whatever you choose to do. And I know you’ll be great at it all. Till we meet, darling.
I love you,
Mom
May 23, 2006 9:07pm
New Orleans, LA
Post Script: I just came back from yoga and a couple of things occurred to me, while I was supposed to be meditating. I had a bad day with the poses. My muscles were constantly spazing out and I had trouble holding certain poses and clearing my mind. And I know I probably said this before but sometimes you will have bad days. It is inevitable. It is life. I have had days where the instructor has praised me also. And the good days are inevitable too. There is no good without bad. Without the sour, the sweet just doesn’t seem as sweet. The next thing I realized is that there is a reason why I am writing this. This started as a writing exercise but now I will print it out and ask mom to put it in the hope chest for you. You are out there somewhere, your spirit anyways. You are calling me and I am hearing it. In the words of the immortal Jeff Buckley, “Mamma, you’ve been on my mind.” (If you don’t know about JB already, go find out.) Who knows where you are right now? You could be a Japanese girl, born to a family with no money and no choices. Or an Austrian princess, born of privilege. You could be virtually anywhere in any form. But I just wanted to say that I hear you. From across the universe, I hear you girl, and that’s powerful stuff. Oh, and Happy Birthday.
5. Reconstructed Ruffle Shirt- Ok. This is what I do: See cute shirt in store or catalog. Attempt recreation. Once finished, I either love it and wear it till it rips or throw it away. I have a huge problem spending lots of money on clothes because I always think I can make it. And I can. But with time, and fabric costs, I'm not entirely sure it's worth it in the end. This particular one is from a Delia's catalog. And yes, I could have ironed it but maybe this way, you'll get an idea of how long it's been sitting on the floor.
