It was a midweek morning, in the land cruiser, geared with backpack, teammate, chauffeur, and we had already driven to our Pediatric unit at the hospital and the nutritional intensive care center to pick up anyone ready to return to their villages. Before we left town, I dropped back by the Base to hand something to a colleague…and to my delight, I was handed an envelope with my name on it. Instinctively, I squeezed it (like a Chompo bar) and smiled to know that it contained a pack of letters. I could not wait.
It was like Christmas. I opened my present like my sister opens care packages- Rip! Snort! And then she gobbles all the yummies all at once and it's so great! It was just like that. I bounced and jolted along and read them ALL in the back of the vehicle. I laughed, I teared, I re-inflated with joy and showed off the scribble-art by my niece.
I read every hand-written word; I visited your houses, your hammocks, and gazed from familiar hilltops; I looked at art on your walls and stopped on the landing of the stairs; I enjoyed your back yards and the neighbors; I started to feel the pulse of my country again; I visited my old work place and rambled through favourite haunts of home.
My gaze came to the end of the last letter…and lifted to the shimmer of pale prairie grass interrupted by dusty green thorn trees and animal herds passing by...and I soaked it all gratefully in. It was as if a big gentle light had slid onto stage and had shed its light on my day. My heart had filled quickly with this flood of love and brimmed-over all day.
The coolest thing was how perfectly preserved your thoughts were. There was no deterioration or settling during shipment! It mattered not a lick that the election already happened or the news was not "new". It was as fresh and dear as the moment you penned it. Like old journals, they are written in a different time, yet able to transport readers to the very present moment of its inscription.
The discourse of the seemingly "mundane" is not mundane at all! It's actually the "real" story most often untold. It's the beauty of life that is so easy to glance over and miss. So congratulations on writing some of history that has never before been written!
Editor's Note: Last week I asked the post man if anyone in this town gets as much mail as I do. He laughed and said "No". The post woman at the desk who'd worked in the system for 20 yrs said with the coming of the cell phone, the post has slowed to a trickle.
2 comments:
I must say I believe that the blog was invented for our family. It just suits us. We all like to write and read and tell stories and of course, talk and make sure we are communicating, "just right". i dont know anyone else who has such a connection among family members of writing.
Nice words, H.
Hey, a belated bday to you. Did you celebrate? I love you, little sister. I remember when you were born.
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