Traveling as much as I have since my early twenties, I have come to understand that the wider the variety of those you come to know, the more you do learn – or you should learn.
I presume if you are reading this that this letter has reached you safely.
I thought I’d write back after your last missive, because I have to ask: Are you kidding? You must have been drunk. Or have they put something in the water in Vermont?
Me: “It is great to be able to socialize with people in person again.”
During the day I found my mind drifting to thinking about several of my family who served in uniform.
I open Twitter regularly to find brave retweets about not messin’ with Texas, and Jefferson quoters telling us this is all invented. It’s just a bit of flu, they declare. We all gotta die of “sumthin”, they add…
At her father’s funeral, my wife could not hug her own mother.
Where we should be is HOME, wherever HOME happens to be.
To talk about SOMETHING else and innocuous briefly.
Aged 89, my father-in-law died unexpectedly early Monday morning (nothing to do with the stupid virus insofar as we know) at his home here in London.
While I have not listened to her start to finish narrating through any of them, from what I have heard she has a decent speaking voice.
After we are gone, what will be said about us? Like everyone else, I suppose authors do wonder too…
In down time sneakily I have been considering – and writing – a bit more of the next great project: the novel that will eventually be.
At my mention of Fitzgerald, my wife smiled and turned to my nephew (with me sitting right there) and declared, “He [meaning me] has a Fitzgerald fixation currently.”
Travel – particularly when engaged in relatively young – is certainly one activity that helps create life experiences. It enables a building up of a personal bank of events and interactions. You will almost certainly find that pile of memories useful eventually if you turn to writing.