Notebook Writers

I can't write long this morning. It's Library Day, and I'm the crazy momma in charge. What that means is I have to be early instead of late, I need to bring some supplies and have my own 3 kiddos fed, dressed and pulled together enough that we don't have a massive collapse during the 2 hours of Library Day. I expect it will be a most wonderful presentation. It's being given by a woman I think is just beyond measure who will talk about her culture and heritage.

I've been finding that having a blog is a strange and wonderful blessing. Mostly I write to keep sane. It's a place to put a thought to "paper" and get a little feedback. It's a place to feed my fantasy of being a writer "when I grow up." It's also a throw back to a day I'd almost forgotten about.

Last night as The Mr. and I talked over our day, he reminded me of the notebook years.

Ah, the notebooks. How could I have possible let those slip from my mind? I suppose they're in a box in the basement, covered in dust and spiders.

The Mr. and I met in high school. Yup, that long ago. We started dating and I discovered something about him. He will not talk on the phone. Talking on the phone was a major form of girl communication in high school. How could I possibly date this guy who wouldn't talk on the phone.

He was a few years ahead of me and our conversations went a lot like this.

Hey, Mr. How was your day?

Fine.

Uh, what are you doing tonight?

Homework.

Hmm, well, I guess you're not in the mood to talk.

Silence.

OK, well, I guess I'll see you at school tommorow.

OK, bye.

I found I often hung up the phone, sat there and looked at it thinking "what was that about?".

He just wasn't, and still isn't, a phone talker. It wasn't that he didn't have big thoughts or feelings. It wasn't that nothing was going on or that he was upset with me, it was just the phone.

And so the notebooks were born. I started by writing a note to him in a notebook. Then when I would see him in the hallway, I would pass it to him. He would take it, read it and write his own note. It wasn't long before the notebook was full, and then another and another.

We wrote to each other until he graduated and went off to college. Then, we wrote letters. Everyday. We sent letters--yeah, snail mail version, back and forth every day until we were finally at college together.

You know what? Most of those notes and letters were just plain about nothing. No big crisis or revelations, but lots of sharing of the little stuff. It gave us the familliarity of each other. We learned a lot of the nuances of each other through the written word.

I think in the end, those were some really valuable years. We grew to know each other in a way that others couldn't touch. The words might even be a part of what saved us when our marriage was in the rocky years.

There is power in words, my friends, great unbounded power.

Love letters and friendship notes go a long, long way.