1:1.11

Thank you, 100 times over, to C. Part of this weekend’s Boston adventure involved breaking down on Sturrow Drive, en route to a dinner party. Have you ever arrived somewhere flustered, distracted and calculating the phenomenal expense of Volvo repairs? When we walked in the group of 10 made what can only be described as an Automotive Love Circle of Support. N. & C. came to the rescue, trudging out into the Cambridge night to assess the situation and, within minutes, identified the problem. A return via Amtrak seemed certain. Except that the following morning C. met us at the car with parts and tools in hand (a thank you to M. for the loan), popped the hood, divined the alchemical repair from his iPhone and the disconnection of a key cable, and had us on our way with time to spare for brunch. I will resist talking about the good looks, intellect and rare fundamental decency of our knight in shining armor. 

And speaking of alchemy: I was completely taken by this new sculpture on MIT’s campus by Spanish Artist Jaume Plensa

[Photo: Patrick Gillooly]

 

1:1.10

On the way up to Boston we made an overnight stop in Middletown, CT to visit with the incomparably lovely A., A., and W. in their cozy home. I’ve been blessed to have a number of surrogate parents in my life, and I treasure each pair for different reasons. For A. & W., it is for opening their apartment to me the summer of 2001, where Amanda and I spent a sleepless season schlepping to internships; hosting me at many Thanksgiving dinners; teaching me about Rein’s, New England traditions and a well-made bed; saving the transportation at our wedding; telling stories about exotic travel and family follies that last long into the evening. This time around: legendary steak sandwiches, snuggling with W. in the window seat, a walk through the cemetery, a lesson in avoiding banalities in conversation, the tale of Amanda’s junior high science project involving highway moss. 

9:1.9

We took a little road trip to Boston last weekend, which you'll hear more about in the coming letters. We stopped at the Joyce Kilmer Service Station in New Jersey. It is one of the few, if only, rest stops I've seen with an italic font on its sign. Do you know who Joyce Kilmer is? Neither did I. He (yes, he) wrote that poem "Trees" that begins

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

in addition to being a journalist, dictionary editor and sergeant during World War I. He died quite early, at 31. Learning even a little bit about him makes me think I should probably pay more attention to the people honored by highway rest stops.

Anyway, at the rest stop there was a kind maintenance man who smiled at everyone as they hustled through the food court to the bathrooms. His name tag read "Gamal." So this William Morris postcard is to the station manager, in appreciation of Gamal's smile in an otherwise dreary day of driving. If you happen to be at the rest stop and have a positive experience with the customer service emlployees, the mailing address (which yes, took forever to find) is: Post Office Box 212 Millton, NJ 08850

4:1.4

 

Thank you to Alan. Last year I had to learn Flash, which was not unlike studying neurophysics in Greek for me. Alan was tremendously patient. If you ever meet anyone who knows Flash and actionscript well, take a moment to recognize their unique form of brilliance.

Project Gratitude

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know that gratitude matters. It is a topic I am preoccupied with. When I say about Neither Snow that "mail matters" what I think I mean, more specifically, is gratitude. Mailed letters represent the best parts of ourselves, and behind almost every one -- an invitation, condolence, announcement, birthday card -- is a feeling of gratitude for another person's presence in our lives.

In thinking about my regrets, almost all come down to: "I should have taken the time to say thank you...really say thank you from the bottom of my heart." The problem is that the impulse arrives and then passes so fast and so frequently that it is easy to avoid acting on it, from reading a wonderful book ("I should write the author a note."), seeing a beautiful movie ("That scene with the baked goods and the ribbon deserves to be acknowledged."), missing a friend's birthday ("I should transcribe their favorite poem."), the smile from the man handing out newspapers on 22nd Street, noticing a well-designed sign or product or event, recognizing noble causes and organizations. The wonder of the world is like a fire hose sometimes, isn't it?

Without devolving into a panicked monologue about screens taking over our lives and the dying art of correspondence I will also simply say this: it feels good to return to a tangible communication method with a history, and to do so in a way that is deliberate and methodical (as inspired by Kate Bingaman Burt). I'm so grateful for the opportunity to do so for my clients, and I need to do it more myself.

In the last few days you may have noticed numbered posts (1:1.1, 2:1.2, 3:1.3, etc.). They are my new year's resolution for 2011: to write a letter of gratitude every day (number of sequence:date).  I will also be taking monthly gratitude requests. If you have someone in mind who you feel deserves a handwritten note recognizing their efforts, please email me and I'll take it under consideration. And if I could write you each an individual letter I would: thank you for stopping by.

[Copper "thank you" plate above very kindly sent by Dan -- he used it for the beautiful invitation suite he designed. And then took the time to send it to me.]