Letter writing and postcard sending are still my two preferred means of communication. Since at least a decade, I have only written letters on onionskin paper, because it reminds me of my grandfather’s bookstore. All of my mother’s letters to him, mentioned in this story, are on onionskin; I imagine that they too had an influence.
I love that onionskin is fully transparent, and soft to the touch, because these things make for lovely handling and reading.
I began writing a letter today to a new friend, someone whom I admire and revere greatly, someone who is nothing but safety. Nearly 90 minutes later, I looked up from 13 pages. I hadn’t even finished the letter.
I had known that my heart was leaking, but hadn’t realized that the hole was so big. In writing her peace, she drained herself, but then realized that she wasn’t ready to send it.
I’m not sure she ever will be ready, but the story is there, should she change her mind.
I unfastened the pages, and folded them into the back of my agenda, rather than tucking them into the envelope. Now that my heart has stopped leaking, tomorrow I will try again.
Today, I am grateful for:
1. Fountain pens.
2. Onionskin paper.
3. The postal service
Ottawa | Day 313 | October 9, 2019