New Language- People Get Ready

FOR A LETTER

This would never happen today. This is a story about hard copy letters.

One set of letters damaged my life. These were the letters that my father wrote to me and I wrote to him.

My grandparents decided this set of correspondence would be better off not delivered.

You see my mother  decided to keep us in Ceylon and my grandparents thought I might say something in a letter that would interfere or provide

evidence that could be used against her.  So my letters were put somewhere I will never know.

I got my father’s letters and thought he was crazy when he accused me of not writing to him.  I was

very upset. My great-aunt was taking care of us. She was the letter thief.  I had suspicions but .  . .

At one point we were taken from our grandparent’s house and  hidden in the jungle.

I was a bit stressed because I didn’t have my white school uniform and green tie.

I had perfect marks and did not want to loose points for our house. The nuns assured me they had white uniforms  at the convent and they did but they

weren’t as good as the ones that my grandmother made for me. We stayed there several days.

When we returned to my grandparents house we were told we had go back to the United States where my mother was filing for divorce.

I took my two younger brothers back by myself waiving goodbye to Ceylon, to the jungle, to convents, to my girls school, to my grandparents with all sorts of rules, cousins to run around with, aunts and uncles to listen to and great aunts and uncles to adore and a world of mystery around me at every corner,

my art class, to a world without television  a world of hand games and prefects and badges and elephant house ices and my friend Charmaine.  I said goodbye to a world where I saw close up grown up artists and what they did.

I arrived by super speed  in 1965 into central California by Pismo Beach in a house without a father.  Dad started to pick us up on weekends and accused me of not writing to him. I glared at him with my beady eyes and concluded at thirteen he was crazy as a loon as my mother said. I refused to go with him after the first few visits. It took twenty years to  unravel the events. By then neither of us cared and who knows if anything would have changed if the letters would have been delivered.

I returned to Ceylon (now Sri Lanka)  in 1981  my great-aunt apologized for hiding the letters and subsequently shortly after in peace.  I really didn’t know what she was talking about until later. I think I might have been blamed for giving her a heart attack.  I wonder if I told my Dad the whole story. I must have because I think did. However  I was the only one talking to him when he died.  He had five years to live and he was very happy about. He didn’t tell anyone. He turned into a different man. He was angry and impatient most of his life and gently and understanding the last five years. He let go. I thought it was the miracle I had prayed for. What did I know. I didn’t know He was dying. It made it very hard for me. Miracles are like that. Later I found out that he had been a very bad alcoholic and it was hard to imagine what drove him in his life. But the last five years of his life he was at peace. He should have written a couple of letters.  Letters are difficult.

This is what one of Julia Margaret Cameron’s Letter looked like. She was very confident.

Little Holland House, May 20 Saturday

…a day’s most arduous work I really fear even my energies down with the work of today All yesty(yesterday) I took studies of Lady Elcho & Lord Elcho said they were the finest things ever done in ART! The day before I took 12 portraits and the same day or rather night I toned & printed & I washed six dozen – …