I’ve begun a journey into finally settling into a hobby. I don’t know why it took me so long–and why it took my mother’s passing–to get me there. But there I am, at the beginning of this journey. I’ve become, in the most Nineteenth-Century sense of the words, a Woman of Letters.
See, my mother had many hobbies and organizations she was involved in. I grew up surrounded by the Catholic Daughters of America, by my mom’s large, boisterous family, and as I grew older, my mother’s Red Hats organization (The Red Hat Chili Peppers) joined the fray. i’ve just felt the need to do something to get my mind off of my grief.
So far in this two week process as it has progressed, I’ve written over fifty letters or cards. I’ve started to receive some back, trickling here and there in my mailbox. I’ve taken to responding to them that day or the next, so that the conversation stays current. There is something so beautiful about writing letters and cards, and even more so, about receiving them. A joy, truly.
It helps me smile, for a little bit, and helps me think, for a little bit, about someone other than myself.
About someone other than Mom.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 