The semester is over except for the grading and the letters of recommendation—LORS. These kept me from applying to residencies or fellowships for decades as I couldn't bear to bother anyone with a request to write one for me. After I had written dozens for other people I too began to ask, and it was agonizing but also simple—a yes or no proposition. No one likes it but it is part of the work. I have two to do today.
Years ago, before age and health got in the way, before email and social media, my husband and I would travel - usually in France or Italy - every year for two weeks. I kept a Clairefontaine pocket-sized grid notebook for each trip. In front: the itinerary, the rreservations, the exchange rates, practical reminders. I wrote each day about what we’d seen, what I loved, what annoyed me, what to be sure to do the next time. And in the back of each notebook, before we left home, I filled in the addresses of every person who would be getting a postcard from us. (Our kids, who are now grown men with kids of their own, got a postcard every day even though they were in college by then.) Recently I came across a few of those notebooks and the list of addresses just knocked me flat: I have outlived so many of those dear people. So I know what you mean about the address book. And I’m glad you still have it.
Such gorgeous writing! And so lovely to know that's something I have in common with you - sending cards. Let's spread the word and get this tradition revived, to let our friends know that for those few moments it took to pick a card, dash off a note, and send it on its way, we were thinking of them, remembering them.
You struck so many chords in this wonderful piece. Your battered address book and all the memories, relationships, and addresses it holds could be mine, as could your collection of letters, Playbills, etc. You mention the homes/addresses that you miss so painfully, and how I identify! On the back of the envelopes of letters from my grandmother and parents are embossed their long ago addresses, blithely and solidly theirs at that time. Sometimes I feel wistful in affixing a return label to letters I am sending, imagining the same fate for that beloved home I so blessedly inhabit.Your closing reflection about our words and whispers "to whom it may concern" brought me to a full-stop in its heart and wisdom.
Thank you for sharing your soul every Sunday. You made me think about many of my personal addresses from years ago. I googled myself once & saw them all listed & I was flooded with memories and nostalgia. You write words that reflect those feelings with such grace & eloquence.
This is beautiful, Alice. The way you tied together your musings at the end made me cry. It's great to hear that you are now writing about a relatively connected family - a consoling idea for me too.
I love your idea for a story about the houses in our dreams. A few mornings ago I woke up remembering a dream about a house (my house, apparently) with an unfixable, leaking, unfinished basement and in my barely awake state I honestly wasn’t sure if it was a real house, one I had once lived in, because it was so familiar and I knew I had been there before. It took some time for me to be sure (and still, only 98 percent sure) that it was familiar only because I had dreamt about it so many times before.
I've started reading back, chronologically, the entries I wrote for a blog which I started in 2001. Like you, I was surprised to find in the comments so many old friends I'd forgotten about! Slowly they stopped commenting - other life priorities took over - and maybe at the time I thought I'd eventually hear from them again - but it didn't happen. It was a disorienting experience seeing their comments again and remembering our fledging friendships that weren't meant to be.
My mother’s Rolodex! Full of dead people and every address I ever had, its cards cloth-like with fingering. Her archival urges only grew stronger, the older she became, threatening to bury me. Now I’m writing with a straw in my mouth pulling air .
Dec 17, 2023·edited Dec 17, 2023Liked by Alice Elliott Dark
it's like the ornaments from childhood that I put on the tree every year....some from Gam and Granddaddy, many from friends old and new...things we made. It's all such a beautiful and sometimes painful trail of memories. Every year. I still have Polly's address books and a box of letters, pictures and clippings from her time before us. I haven't yet had the courage to go through them, I wonder if I ever will. Can't wait to read the next one, Al. Love to you and Larry and Asher.
Beautiful as always Alice. And I cannot wait for your next book.
Oh, I love this so much, Alice. Wish I had tucked the pink lists somewhere safe.
Years ago, before age and health got in the way, before email and social media, my husband and I would travel - usually in France or Italy - every year for two weeks. I kept a Clairefontaine pocket-sized grid notebook for each trip. In front: the itinerary, the rreservations, the exchange rates, practical reminders. I wrote each day about what we’d seen, what I loved, what annoyed me, what to be sure to do the next time. And in the back of each notebook, before we left home, I filled in the addresses of every person who would be getting a postcard from us. (Our kids, who are now grown men with kids of their own, got a postcard every day even though they were in college by then.) Recently I came across a few of those notebooks and the list of addresses just knocked me flat: I have outlived so many of those dear people. So I know what you mean about the address book. And I’m glad you still have it.
Such gorgeous writing! And so lovely to know that's something I have in common with you - sending cards. Let's spread the word and get this tradition revived, to let our friends know that for those few moments it took to pick a card, dash off a note, and send it on its way, we were thinking of them, remembering them.
Can't WAIT to read your new work!!
Happy Holidays, Alice.
You struck so many chords in this wonderful piece. Your battered address book and all the memories, relationships, and addresses it holds could be mine, as could your collection of letters, Playbills, etc. You mention the homes/addresses that you miss so painfully, and how I identify! On the back of the envelopes of letters from my grandmother and parents are embossed their long ago addresses, blithely and solidly theirs at that time. Sometimes I feel wistful in affixing a return label to letters I am sending, imagining the same fate for that beloved home I so blessedly inhabit.Your closing reflection about our words and whispers "to whom it may concern" brought me to a full-stop in its heart and wisdom.
Al, I love this. It resonates so
deeply. Beautiful writing.
❤️❤️ ❤️
Thank you for sharing your soul every Sunday. You made me think about many of my personal addresses from years ago. I googled myself once & saw them all listed & I was flooded with memories and nostalgia. You write words that reflect those feelings with such grace & eloquence.
This is beautiful, Alice. The way you tied together your musings at the end made me cry. It's great to hear that you are now writing about a relatively connected family - a consoling idea for me too.
You're so wise - I just wrote an essay aobut my birthday calendar - all these people, all these lives -
I love your idea for a story about the houses in our dreams. A few mornings ago I woke up remembering a dream about a house (my house, apparently) with an unfixable, leaking, unfinished basement and in my barely awake state I honestly wasn’t sure if it was a real house, one I had once lived in, because it was so familiar and I knew I had been there before. It took some time for me to be sure (and still, only 98 percent sure) that it was familiar only because I had dreamt about it so many times before.
I've started reading back, chronologically, the entries I wrote for a blog which I started in 2001. Like you, I was surprised to find in the comments so many old friends I'd forgotten about! Slowly they stopped commenting - other life priorities took over - and maybe at the time I thought I'd eventually hear from them again - but it didn't happen. It was a disorienting experience seeing their comments again and remembering our fledging friendships that weren't meant to be.
My mother’s Rolodex! Full of dead people and every address I ever had, its cards cloth-like with fingering. Her archival urges only grew stronger, the older she became, threatening to bury me. Now I’m writing with a straw in my mouth pulling air .
it's like the ornaments from childhood that I put on the tree every year....some from Gam and Granddaddy, many from friends old and new...things we made. It's all such a beautiful and sometimes painful trail of memories. Every year. I still have Polly's address books and a box of letters, pictures and clippings from her time before us. I haven't yet had the courage to go through them, I wonder if I ever will. Can't wait to read the next one, Al. Love to you and Larry and Asher.
I hope you write that story.
Also this “As they say, there are many ways to make a family.” 💓
Gorgeous