The Last Letter
Decades ago I moved from a cramped apartment to a bi-level house in Silver Spring, Maryland. We lived on a street that ended in a dirt lot —so no through traffic. My son was almost three. His sister was born two months after we moved. My first next door neighbor loved cleaning her house and often spent hours defrosting the refrigerator and washing the kitchen floor.
Within several weeks I became friends with Bonnie — originally from Pueblo, Colorado, Miriam from New York City, Jean ( Mother Earth) from Chicago, and Nancy from Georgia. There were others— many from the Deep South.
Early on I learned that neighborhood Bible studies were available for mothers, for couples, for seekers, for dyed in the wool Christians, and even for our local Holy Rollers. The only Holy Roller I came to know was a woman who came from Ohio and spoke in tongues. She willingly gave out booklets on how to access speaking in tongues.
Shortly after my daughter was born the cleaning fanatic next door put her house up for sale and a couple with four boys purchased the house. Tom was in the navy— pretty high up in rank. Tom and Anna met growing up in the Mississippi delta. Being neighborly I brought over a pitcher of ice cold lemonade and chocolate chip cookies— or perhaps they were lemon cookies. Moving in the summer with the heat was a test.
It didn’t take too long for a friendship to begin. Anna had a maple table in her kitchen with two benches and two captain chairs. Every afternoon she would sit down with her guitar and play and sing folk songs and hymns. Because we both had small children, an interest in literature, and a love of folk music, it didn’t take long before we became friends.
On hot afternoons the two little ones often napped in the same house. Anna kept a pitcher of Tang out on a picnic table and I had a pitcher of water outside. The neighborhood was filled with youngsters and over the five years they lived next door her boys, my son, and six other boys became a tight knit group. The Tang and water remained outside during the summer— it cut down on in and out.
Only Jean never cared if the crew trooped into her house. She baked and fed everyone. Her h9me and kitchen remained open and inviting.
Several of the women formed a group to “baby sit” and give mothers a day off. I took a silk screen course at a museum, made my own screen, and turned out 16 “ x 20” posters or landscapes.
Often Anna and I took off the same day and went hiking in the woods or on some of the Appalachian Trail. Jean joined us the Saturday we all climbed Old Rag Mountain.
That first year I was invited to join a morning Bible Study. Everyone in that study came from the south— and most of the women still spoke with a southern drawl. I had been part of book clubs ( formed one on Ainsley Road), but my New York City upbringing hadn’t prepared me for a serious Bible study. Everyone believed the same thing— everyone prayed aloud and someone gave what I later found out was Testimony. That first day Nancy spoke about what Jesus had done in her life the past week.
I was the fish out of water—although I did own a RSV hard cover Bible. Anna came over that afternoon for tea and a challenge— read the Bible from the first word to the last. So I did— I studied the Word under her tutelage. I also went to several tent type meetings where calls were made to accept Jesus.
Three years after accepting the challenge I was baptized in a D.C. Presbyterian Church along with a young woman from Gallaudet College. Anna gave me a black leather King James Bible. I followed Anna’s penchant for outlining words in black India Ink and writing in the smallest script in the margins.
In five years Tom’s time was up and they moved— but we kept up a letter writing correspondence of two or three letters a week. We both read through all of Melville’s novels and exchanged commentary. Anna was taking an MFA. I had gone back to teach.
We met once or twice a year— often to take a course. Poetry at Hope College. Over the years Anna became more and more conservative and a strict fundamentalist. And I became a more liberal Christian.
Despite this difference— which we agreed was a topic, one of many, we could no longer discuss, we never truly lost contact.
When Tom retired from the Navy they bought a piece of a mountain in North Carolina. In time three of their boys built their homes on that mountain. They each had large families and home schooled their youngsters.
I called her faith fanatical and she prided herself on being a fanatic for Christ. Over time we whittled down the topics that were safe and the time between letters stretched in to months and then yearly.
Two years ago cancer took Tom’s life.
I wrote a long overdue letter at the beginning of June and wrote about Gay Marriage and Abortion — two topics that may at some point come up in the now conservative Supreme Court. Those were two of the topics we agreed to never discuss since we stood at the far end of each pole. In the letter I noted that she might not answer the letter.
Today a letter came, but not with her return address. Inside the envelope— Anna’s funeral bulletin and a five page single spaced letter. Michael, her youngest son, spoke about some of his memories— sparse since he was six when they moved. Anna never had a chance to read the letter. Michael responded to some of my letter— although acknowledging that he didn’t quite know exactly what she might say.
Dear Anna— your belief in every word of the Bible, your anti- abortion and anti- gay marriage stand put us at opposite ends of this debate. You believed fully and deeply— perhaps almost fanatically. But it was you who introduced me to the Bible and to the story that continues beyond the Hebrew Scriptures. Some of what I recall of our friendship — the long talks over tea, collecting pieces of wood, taking a carload of six youngsters to Montreat,North Carolina. And one memory that stands out was going to Harper’s Ferry on Easter Morning and listening to a group singing Amazing Grace.
Despite our differences— and despite that letters were trimmed to once a year, I shall miss you
Michael wrote that the whole family of your four boys, their wives, and thirty-two grandchildren all sang hymns to you as you moved from this world to the other—
Peace be with you—I know that you are rejoicing.
As you often quoted —God restores the years of the locust.
Shalom
Within several weeks I became friends with Bonnie — originally from Pueblo, Colorado, Miriam from New York City, Jean ( Mother Earth) from Chicago, and Nancy from Georgia. There were others— many from the Deep South.
Early on I learned that neighborhood Bible studies were available for mothers, for couples, for seekers, for dyed in the wool Christians, and even for our local Holy Rollers. The only Holy Roller I came to know was a woman who came from Ohio and spoke in tongues. She willingly gave out booklets on how to access speaking in tongues.
Shortly after my daughter was born the cleaning fanatic next door put her house up for sale and a couple with four boys purchased the house. Tom was in the navy— pretty high up in rank. Tom and Anna met growing up in the Mississippi delta. Being neighborly I brought over a pitcher of ice cold lemonade and chocolate chip cookies— or perhaps they were lemon cookies. Moving in the summer with the heat was a test.
It didn’t take too long for a friendship to begin. Anna had a maple table in her kitchen with two benches and two captain chairs. Every afternoon she would sit down with her guitar and play and sing folk songs and hymns. Because we both had small children, an interest in literature, and a love of folk music, it didn’t take long before we became friends.
On hot afternoons the two little ones often napped in the same house. Anna kept a pitcher of Tang out on a picnic table and I had a pitcher of water outside. The neighborhood was filled with youngsters and over the five years they lived next door her boys, my son, and six other boys became a tight knit group. The Tang and water remained outside during the summer— it cut down on in and out.
Only Jean never cared if the crew trooped into her house. She baked and fed everyone. Her h9me and kitchen remained open and inviting.
Several of the women formed a group to “baby sit” and give mothers a day off. I took a silk screen course at a museum, made my own screen, and turned out 16 “ x 20” posters or landscapes.
Often Anna and I took off the same day and went hiking in the woods or on some of the Appalachian Trail. Jean joined us the Saturday we all climbed Old Rag Mountain.
That first year I was invited to join a morning Bible Study. Everyone in that study came from the south— and most of the women still spoke with a southern drawl. I had been part of book clubs ( formed one on Ainsley Road), but my New York City upbringing hadn’t prepared me for a serious Bible study. Everyone believed the same thing— everyone prayed aloud and someone gave what I later found out was Testimony. That first day Nancy spoke about what Jesus had done in her life the past week.
I was the fish out of water—although I did own a RSV hard cover Bible. Anna came over that afternoon for tea and a challenge— read the Bible from the first word to the last. So I did— I studied the Word under her tutelage. I also went to several tent type meetings where calls were made to accept Jesus.
Three years after accepting the challenge I was baptized in a D.C. Presbyterian Church along with a young woman from Gallaudet College. Anna gave me a black leather King James Bible. I followed Anna’s penchant for outlining words in black India Ink and writing in the smallest script in the margins.
In five years Tom’s time was up and they moved— but we kept up a letter writing correspondence of two or three letters a week. We both read through all of Melville’s novels and exchanged commentary. Anna was taking an MFA. I had gone back to teach.
We met once or twice a year— often to take a course. Poetry at Hope College. Over the years Anna became more and more conservative and a strict fundamentalist. And I became a more liberal Christian.
Despite this difference— which we agreed was a topic, one of many, we could no longer discuss, we never truly lost contact.
When Tom retired from the Navy they bought a piece of a mountain in North Carolina. In time three of their boys built their homes on that mountain. They each had large families and home schooled their youngsters.
I called her faith fanatical and she prided herself on being a fanatic for Christ. Over time we whittled down the topics that were safe and the time between letters stretched in to months and then yearly.
Two years ago cancer took Tom’s life.
I wrote a long overdue letter at the beginning of June and wrote about Gay Marriage and Abortion — two topics that may at some point come up in the now conservative Supreme Court. Those were two of the topics we agreed to never discuss since we stood at the far end of each pole. In the letter I noted that she might not answer the letter.
Today a letter came, but not with her return address. Inside the envelope— Anna’s funeral bulletin and a five page single spaced letter. Michael, her youngest son, spoke about some of his memories— sparse since he was six when they moved. Anna never had a chance to read the letter. Michael responded to some of my letter— although acknowledging that he didn’t quite know exactly what she might say.
Dear Anna— your belief in every word of the Bible, your anti- abortion and anti- gay marriage stand put us at opposite ends of this debate. You believed fully and deeply— perhaps almost fanatically. But it was you who introduced me to the Bible and to the story that continues beyond the Hebrew Scriptures. Some of what I recall of our friendship — the long talks over tea, collecting pieces of wood, taking a carload of six youngsters to Montreat,North Carolina. And one memory that stands out was going to Harper’s Ferry on Easter Morning and listening to a group singing Amazing Grace.
Despite our differences— and despite that letters were trimmed to once a year, I shall miss you
Michael wrote that the whole family of your four boys, their wives, and thirty-two grandchildren all sang hymns to you as you moved from this world to the other—
Peace be with you—I know that you are rejoicing.
As you often quoted —God restores the years of the locust.
Shalom
2 Comments:
Just beautiful. Lovely images.
Thank you.
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