Letter to an old and dear friend

The late Lewis B. Taylor

 

 

Dear Lew,

I’m typing this on the end of a file called Letters to Lew. In re-reading the previous ones, I see I have sermonized right often. Sorry. Except that after today’s letter dated 10 May ’04, you’re likely to get another one.

 

Your letter: did you keep a carbon copy?—has several good first lines for poems. Or prose, essays, perhaps. Here’s one: “When you don’t know where you’re going/ any road will get you there.” Notice how inherently rhythmic it is: two feet per line. With a little tweaking, the first line of your letter could go with it: “Not that I have anything to say (anywhere to go), but we shall proceed from here and see how I saw it this time (how far a road will lead).” You have a way with words/ phrases/ sentences, as well as a great, understated, wry sense of humor. USE IT OR LOSE IT, LEW!!

 

How would your life change if, as your last line, page one, says: “I have been here herding kids, dogs, cats, and house,” if that’s what life dealt you RIGHT NOW? Can you see yourself pulling in, breathing deeply, tightening your metaphorical belt and getting on with your life/ responsibility/ purpose? Brainstorm what you could/ would do to take back the rest of your life.

 

The way I see it, you have given up. You seem to have no hope. Is that what aging does to one? Aging unhappily? I guess at a certain year Old Man Age snares us with his cane-around-the-ankle-around-the-eyes weaknesses. Just hope I can pelt him/ her/ it long enough to get done what I have to do, and then do a little of what I’d like to. Which is . . . I don’t know now, but I’ll know when it’s time.

 

Thank you for your kind words, speaking of aging. Your eyesight must have slipped. I have wrinkles and have gained more than a pound in ten years, but thanks anyway. I knew looking young would one day act in my favor. When I first began teaching, I had to buy cord golf dresses and sling-heeled wedgies to look older than the high schoolers in my classes. Now, that’s gotta be genes, for I didn’t wear makeup, couldn’t afford cool clothes, etc. So, yes, a lot of it’s inherited. Mom at 92 still goes to family parties and gatherings, and church. She plans on attending the family reunion the last of this month.

 

You didn’t answer my question about whether or not Lucidity Larks (round-robin poetry critiques) was helping you. Guess there could be other reasons for participating, right?

 

Doris F. has put their house on the market; as soon as they can, they are moving back to Texas to a retirement village. Her husband has Alzheimer’s, and they’re both in their 80s. She’s too small and fragile in case he gets violent. She walks a tightrope with him—a PhD educator, world traveler, etc.

 

Thanks for thinking about me. I think about you at times, too, and smile. Which reminds me, I have an unfinished poem. Dare I finish it and send it through the Larks???

That would be a lark, huh?