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osprey_archerA telephone conversation with my mother this morning:
Jin: …so when I get home one of my projects is figuring out a filing system for all the letters I've received, because there are too many for my old filing system.
Mother: Or you could just recycle them.
Jin: Recycle them? Get rid of letters? (beat) (beat) ….do you get rid of my letters?
Mother: Yep!
Jin: O.O
Mother: You write a lot of them, after all.
Jin: O.o
Mother: They’d take up a lot of space.
Jin: o.O
Mother: Honey? You didn’t walk out in traffic or anything, did you?
Jin: >.<
(My mother is like a reverse packrat. I remember once looking for our copy of Rebecca: “Oh, I gave that to the library. No one was reading it.” “Mother! That’s the copy of Rebecca you bought in Suffolk in 1978 on your first trip to England! It still contains your tourist maps because you used them as a bookmark!” My mother gives me a quizzical look. “It has sentimental value, Mom!”)
Anyway. As a result of the scarring conversation about the letters, I am now the proud possessor of a pen-and-paper journal, which no one will ever ever ever throw away. I agonized over stacks of journals (as well as the selection of blank thank-you cards. Who knew thank-you cards were so delectable?) in the local bookstore till I picked out one with a Hiroshige print on the cover.
Van Gogh, incidentally, was a tremendous fan of Hiroshige, which probably influenced my choice. He mentions over and over in his letters that he thinks Arles – Arles is the place in southern France where he lived with Gauguin for three months, and then sliced off his earlobe – that he thinks Arles looks like Japan, he hopes Arles will inspire him like Japan, and look at these gorgeous plum orchards! You could almost imagine you were in Kyoto!
I’m reading a book of his letters, Letters from Provence. It abridges the letters tremendously and doesn’t include any of the replies, which makes me sad; but it does have illustrations and is short enough that I don't feel guilty about reading it during finals week.
And the book is only possible because Van Gogh’s family saved his letters. *grumble grumble grumble*
Jin: …so when I get home one of my projects is figuring out a filing system for all the letters I've received, because there are too many for my old filing system.
Mother: Or you could just recycle them.
Jin: Recycle them? Get rid of letters? (beat) (beat) ….do you get rid of my letters?
Mother: Yep!
Jin: O.O
Mother: You write a lot of them, after all.
Jin: O.o
Mother: They’d take up a lot of space.
Jin: o.O
Mother: Honey? You didn’t walk out in traffic or anything, did you?
Jin: >.<
(My mother is like a reverse packrat. I remember once looking for our copy of Rebecca: “Oh, I gave that to the library. No one was reading it.” “Mother! That’s the copy of Rebecca you bought in Suffolk in 1978 on your first trip to England! It still contains your tourist maps because you used them as a bookmark!” My mother gives me a quizzical look. “It has sentimental value, Mom!”)
Anyway. As a result of the scarring conversation about the letters, I am now the proud possessor of a pen-and-paper journal, which no one will ever ever ever throw away. I agonized over stacks of journals (as well as the selection of blank thank-you cards. Who knew thank-you cards were so delectable?) in the local bookstore till I picked out one with a Hiroshige print on the cover.
Van Gogh, incidentally, was a tremendous fan of Hiroshige, which probably influenced my choice. He mentions over and over in his letters that he thinks Arles – Arles is the place in southern France where he lived with Gauguin for three months, and then sliced off his earlobe – that he thinks Arles looks like Japan, he hopes Arles will inspire him like Japan, and look at these gorgeous plum orchards! You could almost imagine you were in Kyoto!
I’m reading a book of his letters, Letters from Provence. It abridges the letters tremendously and doesn’t include any of the replies, which makes me sad; but it does have illustrations and is short enough that I don't feel guilty about reading it during finals week.
And the book is only possible because Van Gogh’s family saved his letters. *grumble grumble grumble*
