I’ll let this one just fly and comment at the end.
Letter 4: 5/4/17
Dear Mr. Urban and Suite,
April has glided into May, the second-best month in Massachusetts (nothing tops October), when lilacs, viburnums, azaleas, and rhododendrons flower in succession, the trees leaf out in their many wondrous greens, and I’m full of optimism that this is the year I will not run out of energy to hoe and weed and water in August. Optimism is good; still, I know I will indeed fail to fully cultivate my garden in hot, humid August. Sigh.
As the season moves toward my Summer Solstice, I think of a diary from my favorite political blog at around the time of my Winter Solstice. Daily Kos is my favorite because it is not only political. It is social, personal, scientific, cultural. In December, Susan Grigsby posted a diary that informed us ignorant masses about various Christmas traditions, the Northern and Southern Hemispheres being so wildly different in their holiday experiences. Northern traditions I am somewhat familiar with, except for the food; I have never eaten Belgian holiday food. However, what truly caught my imagination and attention was the discussion of New Zealand Christmas traditions. Go to the beach? Really? Sit under the red and green parasol of the pohutukawa in bloom? I had to share. My color printer died (if you want to see its glories in full color, this is the link: www.dailykos.com/story/2016/12/26/1607224/-Christmas-elsewhere), so with apologies for the black-and-white print, here ‘tis:
A thoroughly delightful stroll through unknown territory. And, I repeat, the beach at the Solstice? Around here, very often even Summer Solstice requires at least a jacket to fend off the coolest breezes. But then what did I know about New Zealand’s latitude? I’d never looked at my world map closely in that area – it centers on the Atlantic Ocean, so land masses at the edges are too distorted from the projection to get useful information.
When I learned in February about the newly identified continent of Zealandia (shared in my second letter), I finally studied the area, while also harkening back to Grisby’s December posting. Where precisely is New Zealand? I had thought it was just south of Australia, and very small. I was amazed to learn that it is well southeast of Australia, and its latitude ranges from the equivalent of Virginia to Maine in these United States. There is wide-spread beach-going at Summer Solstice in Virginia, whereas only hardy souls in Maine would try before July. By the same measure, northern New Zealand would be fabulously warm in December; southern New Zealand, iffy.
Which awkwardly brings us back to spring in Massachusetts. March is full of false promises, but April fulfills her promises until she gracefully yields to May.
Not this year. You knew I was going to talk to you about my sister. I did warn you in my third letter after all. So, she went for her follow-up scan in April, and it was nothing but a false promise. She found out that, being a CAT scan and not a PET scan, there was no detail about her cancer. The pictures showed that it had not spread (no new spots), but not whether it had stayed the same or shrunk. So not (a) and not (d), and (c) was not nearly informative enough. She will have another PET scan eventually, but for now all she can say is that it isn’t worse, i.e., it is not an aggressive cancer so she is medically stable. Yay. She also said that she is in less pain than she was three months ago, and she believes the reason is that her cancer has shrunk, but it’s a subjective assessment, no pictures. Yay? Yes, yay.
She continues to be serene and contemplative, at least outwardly. Not me. I’m angry all the time, at least inwardly. She has dealt with this over and over. Why can she not enjoy a placid life, visiting and hosting the many people who love her, pursuing her passions, being a pillar of her church.
I have reread how I write about her, and realize that I sound like a much younger sister idolizing her big sister. Not so Boston. She is the baby sister; I’m the second of four, and I terrorized her verbally, emotionally, and physically as a child, like most big sisters. When suddenly the sibling rivalry vanished, I became her most ardent admirer. Just after I posted my third letter, I realized that the relationship I laid out in my story (from my first letter – okay, now even I am befuddled) between the two female protagonists is essentially our relationship, from my point of view. The characters themselves are not based on us, but the older one’s dependence on the younger for guidance and encouragement and social explication is a relationship very much based on my need for her ability to do that for me. She is brilliant in all ways. But you already know that, don’t you.
On a final note, my husband and I are going to meet her and her husband in Charleston, SC in August for the total eclipse of the sun. Our first, her third. They made their reservations a year ago; we so procrastinated that we gave up and decided we couldn’t make it – too expensive, too complicated. Then I faced the fact that we may not all be here in 2024, when the next North American eclipse will take place, so we went ahead and committed to the trip. I’m so glad about that. So is she.
She’s teaching me how to bake bread. I’m glad about that, too. She is ecstatic. She wants me to love it as much as she does. Not likely, but I’m open to it. No matter how much life sometimes stinks, it is all we have, so we must keep embracing new possibilities and experiences. And I do.
Hoping your life is wonderful, I remain most sincerely yours, M
PS: Lucky you! Our short-reigned ex-semi-senator, the luscious I mean illustrious Scott Brown, has been named US Ambassador to New Zealand. I’m sure he’ll want to meet you. Perhaps you will want to meet him, too – no idea. The great Charlie Pierce, another Massachusetts native, said of the appointment that NZ is “a place of stunning natural beauty where not a helluva lot is going on. And if you say that makes it not all that different than Scott Brown himself, well, shame on you for being an un-American bastid.” Ha Ha, yes, I will start saying that now. Oh, and if you should happen to meet him, do call him a Mass-hole. I assure you, that’s what we call ourselves, so he’ll feel right at home.
Okay, sorry, I lied. It’s what people from all the surrounding states call us. I think it’s because of our driving habits, or perhaps the lack thereof. So please don’t call him a Mass-hole on my account. Only if you really want to.
This is my final letter. I have run out of 80-cent stamps, and, being a thrifty (skinflint) New Englander I’m too cheap to buy more nor to waste excess postage by using up Forever stamps on this nonsense.
The letters served a purpose as a bit of harmless venting, but also helped to keep me motivated to pay attention and act, to be a better sister, a better friend, a braver participant in the wider world. And they turned into a record of, as I said, dear Jelly, sister o’ mine, how much I admire and respect and adore you.
Not that all is flowers & candy. We’ve all heard about the hotel industry, where people have to train their (much lower paid) replacements. In the software sector, you often have to build your replacement! That is her current project. So when she goes looking for work again, if Obamacare goes under, how does she get insurance? We all know the answer to that.
She liked my story well enough to want me to try another, do better, explore the strange new world (for me) of creativity. Sorry, not now. I have the plot outlines for my next two stories, but I am unable to write anything. I haven’t given up, you understand, but my thoughts are too dark now; every scene I envision goes bad for my character.
But wait, there is the debacle – maybe the escapade? – a scene I’ve imagined where McCoy’s sister tries to teach my new character how to bake sour dough bread. Just like when my sister tried to show me, except the character is even more inept than I, much to the delight of McCoy’s sister’s kids. I could write that chapter – it’s lightweight – and send it to her.
Hey, no more glum, let’s get going, shall we? So much to do. The eclipse beckons - only three months away. My husband and I arrive in Charleston by train in the morning, meet sister & her husband to see the show, catch the train north late in the day. Perfect. About as much time as I want to spend in South Carolina in August.
Thank you to any DK readers who made it through this highly personal set of diaries. Think on, pray over, light a candle for my sister. Trust me, if you should meet her, you will love her. Everybody does.