Wednesday, February 23, 2011

My letter in all its handwritten glory will be winging its way to you this weekend. 
Resplendent with ink blotches... I love my fountain pen!
I've not had too much of a chance to read much this week, I did read Hilary Mantels' 'Beyond Black' last week, and if you want a bit of Norwegian, try 'Out Stealing Horses' by Per Petterson, it's an incredible book.
It's funny, Alistair was with my Mother and Stepfather last week out in the wild tundra of Utah, funny seeing him on the other side of the Skype screen, it was strangely touching, Milan saying "So feels so close, but I can't touch him." He's missed him alot "When's Dad coming home? what's Dad doing today? Where is Dad today?" (Although, he's probably just skirting around the question he wants to ask the most, What's Dad bringing me back from America?!).
Today, in Texas. Tomorrow, in Denver then SF and then hopefully on a plane home, we love meeting him from the airport on an early morning as it means there's Krispy Creme for breakfast.
Soon it'll be our turn, tickets booked for home, we can't wait.


Wednesday, February 16, 2011

 Hello, sweets,

I'll be waiting for a letter from you in finely scripted calligraphy with a wax seal, please.  I'd like descriptions of life in the colonies and your newest hat;  perhaps a paragraph or two about the lady novel you've just read?  The one with the tubercular heroine and the raffish soldier?

Which makes me think, what are you reading, my dear?  Anything good?  I've been noodling around in piles of old newspapers and interior design magazines after finishing Wolf Hall, because where do I go from there?  Mom just sent a big box of books, which always makes me happy, but then sad, because she's far away now and not driving down for the weekend with all her recent reads in a grocery bag in the back seat of the car.  This batch of books had to come through snow and sleet via the United States Postal Service and while her handwriting on the front of the package is some consolation and the X's and O's on the back are lovely, I wish she was a magical Sallie-in-the-box, curled up inside and ready to jump out once I've cut the packing tape.  She's too far away.  How do you manage being so far from your own mama?

Anyway, those books -- there's Let the Great World Spin and a Jayne Anne Phillips that she liked and oh!  a newish Arnalder Indridason as well!  I think I'll start there; I'm in the mood for a grim Icelandic tale.



Tuesday, February 15, 2011


Dear Anna,
My reply is tardy, in my defence, it would have taken two weeks for a letter to reach you... and at least this way you can read my writing!
We've had floods and heat waves here, cyclones and torrential rain. Do you have green shoots poking out of iced earth yet?
Alistair is in Portland this week, he says it's beautifully bitterly cold and he's loving it.
Meanwhile, I've done my morning 20 laps at the pool and am attempting to get my head around the pile of work that seems to breed when I turn my back. It makes me want to walk the dog all day, or retreat to bed with a good book.
I've bought myself a new fountain pen. 
I'll be writing proper letters. 
With stamps.