Back again!

Dear Ferrisente,
I'm back!!

---- Gary turned around in delight. "You're back!" he declared.
"So are you!" said Angeline.
"I've always been here," said Gary.
"You're back to me," said Angeline.
[From Someday Angeline by Louis Sachar] ----

Yes, I have a new typewrite ribbon! I am so glad to have my typewriter back. Now you can again read my rambling. Exciting, non?
I have other things I should be doing... but my typewriter looked much more attractive than my other mundane tasks.

The other day I was at a friend's house and she and her sister have the most gorgeous dollhouse! It has staircases, doors, windows, shingles on the roof, mirrors on the wall! Unfurnished at the moment, but still beautiful.
It was made by their grandfather! Actually he made it for their aunt's daughters. The thing is, their aunt never had any daughters: only sons. So, sadly my friend finally got it this year. She is in her very late teens and her sister is in her early teens. One can still enjoy a dollhouse at that age, but not as much as one could when one is younger. Thus is life, I suppose.
I love dollhouses so much. I wish I could live in one. Not my own though, it has no stairs, haha!
My dad made mine. Though it is not as fancy as most, it does quite well for me and I am very fond of it.
I wish I were an old, grandmotherly lady. Rich, too.
I would collect all sizes of dollhouses and furnish them. I'd sew for the dolls and have tea parties. Making sure to invite along several little girls. Proper little girls who wear dresses and believe that dolls come alive. That's the kind of little girl I was. I don't think that breed shall ever completely die out, no matter how depraved the world gets.

Alright, I'm done rambling for now!
I hope you had a joyous Christmas, Ferrisente!

Love,
Me

Fading ink, fading thoughts

Dear Ferrisente,
This typewriter and I *must* be soulmates. His ink grows faint as does my inspiration.
I kept trying to write tonight but all my thoughts jumbled and I could not get at what I wanted to.
As I struggled on my typewriter’s ink suddenly faded drastically as did my coherent-ness.
I’ve heard multiple ways to work past one’s writer’s block. But it just didn’t seem worth it to force myself.
So I made myself a cup of tea and some toast with jam. I announced to my family that I was, in fact, not there despite what they may think. And then I settled down to watch “Les Parapluies de Cherbourg”. Quel bonheur!
So, tonight was very pleasant even though it was not spent as I thought it would be! My ‘muse’ seems to be feeling much better.
I hope a new ribbon can be found for my typewriter. I would miss him if we couldn’t find one...
If you can still read this, Ferrisente, your eyesight must be very good!
I hope I can write more later when my moody typewriter is fixed.
Ta-ta for now!
Me

I do dream in the dusk...

Dear Ferrisente,
Sometimes I wish I was a 50 year old spinister who lived in the middle of nowhere near a lake.
Someone with no family to celebrate all the numerous Holidays with.
I would have two black cats named Monkberry & Moonslip.
My evenings would be spent listening to the gramophone, dreaming, drinking tea, and reading Carl Sandburg's poetry and other classic books.
I would seemingly be alone. Outsiders would think me unhappy.
But they would be wrong.
~
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Here's a poem I love, Ferrisente. I'm sure you'll love it too.

"Dreams in the Dusk" by Carl Sandburg
Dreams in the dusk,
Only dreams, closing the day
And with the day's close going back
To the gray things, the dark things,
The far, deep things of dreamland.

Dreams, only dreams in the dusk,
Only the old remembered pictures
Of lost days when the day's loss
Wrote in tears the heart's loss.

Tears and loss and broken dreams
May find your heart at dusk.

~
I hope you have a blessed Thanksgiving.

Ever and Ever,
Me

Auditioning

Dear Ferrisente,
Here is something I wrote about the experience of auditioning for a play. It's not very good, I just kind of wrote it as it came. And it is not based off a specific auditioning experience but rather a culmination of several different ones because the process often differs. (N.B. Call-backs are when the judges ask you to come back after you've made yourself sick auditioning the first time to make you audition a second time. It's a great process. NOT!)

Part I - Auditioning
Short breaths, beating heart.
Sweaty palms that leave a mark on whatever I touch.
Faces before me, ready to judge.
They wish for me to sing,
Someone starts the music.
I open my mouth and hope sound will come out.
The starting is rough but it gets better and better.
Until my song is done.
I go away but I'll come back later,
They'll want me then to read.
A cold read. Unfamiliar words
That sometimes trip me
But often they flow together
Into different emotions.
When that is done I wait for a while.
They give me a paper containing my fate.
I can't open it...
My friend does instead.
I'm called back,
They want to see me again!

Part II - Call Backs
It's no longer just me,
There are many
Also called-back
But I still feel honoured
to be among the chosen.
We are called up in groups
To read some more.
Different combinations,
But the same words.
I've got this scene memorized by now,
If I hear it again I might scream.
Different scenes over and over.
I carefully watch,
Casting the show myself.
It's all done now.
The cast list will come out
At an undetermined time.
I'll know my fate soon
Will I get the part
That I so desire?
Sometimes yes, sometimes no.
I try not to care.
But when it's all over,
Said and done,
I wouldn't miss this process,
Not for anything.
.......................
(That last part was a lie.)


Well, Ferrisente, that's auditions in a nutshell. Hope I've made you feel some of the pain I've had to go through!
But after the dark tunnel of auditions comes the joy of participating in a play. Maybe I'll write about that sometime! But now, I must go do laundry and other exciting things.

Ever and Ever,
Me

Some thoughts on poetry...

Dear Ferrisente,
I love poetry. Not the analysis of it though. Which is quite a shame cause if you take a poetry class that is what they want you to do: analyze. I am satisfied with the personal connection, my own special meaning that I get out of reading a poem. Of course that is not what most teachers are looking for……

I pulled out my little book of Shakespeare’s Sonnets the other day. I remembered how much I love Sonnet 130...

“My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.”

This could be considered a bit harsh but I think it’s really sweet! Oh, that we were all so lucky to have such a person in our lives!
And often I get tired of reading rambling adulations about the unrealistic attractiveness of some gorgeous personage. But I’ll try to keep my bitterness reigned in here, hehe.

Well, life calls, Ferrisente!

Ever and Ever,

Me

My "New" Typewriter

Dear Ferrisente,
It may interest you to know that I am the proud owner of a typewriter!! It was lying around taking up space in my sister’s room and she was thinking of selling it. But I offered to take it off her hands so she gave it to me!

I think I shall name him. Though I don’t know what… I will think of something eventually.
He’s a very nice typewriter! He does have some faults though. Such as, the absence of an exclamation point. (I’ll have to add them in later.) He is extremely loud as well. Especially when I type a long train of thought, he’s so loud my eardrums ring. But this can be overcome. At the moment I have wadded-up toilet paper stuck in my ears. (I would have preferred cotton balls but we didn’t have any.) It works quite well though! He’s very muffled.

What is it do you think that is so satisfying about typing on typewriters? I think one reason I love them so much is because they are old-fashioned. I adore out-of-date things. They just make life so much more interesting!
As I sit here typing I feel as though I should be wearing my hair in a bun, a vintage dress, and cherry red lipstick. Sadly, that is practically the exact opposite of what I am wearing.

This typewriter has opened up a river inside of me that has been dammed for a while. I want to write again. I have been ignoring my inner ‘authoress’ for some time now. My journal has been sitting untouched and neglected. But lately I have been feeling the desire to write more and the typewriter was the final nail on the coffin. (No that’s too depressing. I’ll say nail on the tree house!) So, Ferrisente, you can expect many more letters from yours truly!
I must say end this now! I’ll write more later.

Ever and Ever,
Me