Writing

The debate of the year will be using what's already written or starting over. There's been more than enough sent to many to compile volumes already, and this year there are the postcards that are the personal private property of a very special person. Maybe that's another book for another time. I can see it as written for children with illustrations.

How can I be an optimist with all that I've experienced so far and what may be coming? That someone always has it worse has been little consolation. I am an optimist, for those who don't know, cursed or blessed with a face that frowns when there's no feeling at all. Straight faced for us looks like sad, when it really isn't. And smiling is only most helpful with children. At this age, that's with whom it works best.

It's not that I expect or hope to see the good in people. It's the hope and expectation that the world will get better, one small act at a time. That those who harm others will be held accountable and become outnumbered and deincentivized from all that created so many problems. People are not property, or for sale, yet so many have managed to get around it at the expense of others. Of others' innocence, time, health, energy, and resources. It's not why we came here.

We are the third world country of more civilized planets. There is no danger we will be visited by aliens. There's nothing to learn from a planet that obviously even from space appears to be bent on destroying itself. Cruising by in a 'flying saucer' would have them move on to another sphere that creates rather than destroys its own.

Remaining hopes include a home where children can play and feel secure with all upheavals gone, health, energy, and the ability to see through plans long delayed, as well as the happiness and encouragement of one young man, that he will find his calling and be able to see it through for generations that follow.

Postcards

Since sometime in September. Daily. Including while together over the Thanksgiving holiday, for the first time since August. He said he wanted postcards, not letters, though the postage is the same, with the exception of the ones the post office sells. On postcards, there can be no secrets, or interrogations. Even the postman or postpersons can see.

Catching up from seeing him over the holiday, so am continuing to write every day, as he had asked if I would on the days we were together as well, as if written on those days, talking about what happened then. It's all important, we both need to remember.

No time for real conversation with each other, or other family for that matter. Everything was on a schedule. Watching TV together is something many take for granted. For us it was special. Shopping, on the worst such days of the year, with unusual crowds compared to any other time. Only because he asked: definitely not something I would do alone. Not to mention owning multiple pets, that he had to break to me one could not go back with him as he had wanted. His first and only special one that he truly loved. She seemed sad not to be able to stay with him. Lots of effort to get them all packed into a car for a very long trip. It took all day before leaving that evening, to drive through the night.

Pouring rain all through Virginia and North Carolina, in the dark. It wasn't so cold that having the car turned off while napping so as not to fall asleep at the wheel made it uncomfortable without heat, and the rain continuing to fall helped a little. Which wasn't the same for the trip back. Ice was coming down in Delaware and exhaustion created a need for seeking out every other rest area.

Seemed like it was all nerves and adrenaline just to get on the road to begin with, anticipated and planned for weeks; last minute details demanding and tiring as well.

It was all worth it to see him jump out from behind the tropical landscaping to flag down the car, letting me know I'd found the place, followed by his grandmother, my mother, awaiting the arrival. It was almost a 'normal' holiday, for the first time in too long.

Still I write, like breathing, instead of talking, two at a time, sometimes from me, sometimes from the pets: hybrids of their points of view. All from me might be boring after awhile; from a pet can keep it interesting.

When next to know soon; whenever it is, it's still too long, and not right. Will keep the cards going as long as it takes, because he wanted them to keep coming.