14:1.14

Thank you to Ellen, my poetry professor in college, for teaching us John Donne’s  “A Valediction Forbidding Mourning” and making poetry a part of our daily lives.

If they be two, they are two so                                      
    As stiff twin compasses are two ;  
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show  
    To move, but doth, if th' other do.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
    Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,                                  
    And makes me end where I begun.  

[Our wedding invitations printed by EmPrint Press]

1:1.12

Thank you to George for suggesting Marcus Aurelius' "Meditations" many years ago. I return to it over and over. 61. To enter others' minds and let them enter yours.

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