Letter from Shiela

Shiela was one of Oma's dear and close friends for decades. Despite their often being on others sides of the ocean, they kept in touch up until Shiela's death some years ago. Shiela was such a colorful (and eloquent) person, that I felt a need to post excerpts from one of her letters to Oma...

Nov. 3rd or 4th or something!

Dearest Shirley-you-bitch:

Just when I had succeeded in throwing up some really nifty roadblocks: flares and blinking lights and tooting horns to distract myself from thinking about me, your letter. And I sat down in the middle of a bullpen of running people and let the words hit me.

Then I came back to my funny hotel room, ostensibly to work on some late copy that I really should be finishing this afternoon, and that goddam letter followed me all over the room. So I hung up my clothes and made a perfunctory pass at the tallest pile of papers (this place looks like it was inhabited by a little old lady miser afraid that they’ll come and take her away to the old folks home -- well?) and all the while your letter, following me.

Let me tell you what is happening – not the unimportant things, just the central stuff…
(In case it had slipped that fine mind of yours, pal, what I am doing in this letter is thinking out loud (on paper) all the things I’ve been avoiding thinking about for lo! these many days/weeks/months/years. Bear with me old pal, I think it’s moving…

How much shit does a friend have to read through? Sorry – I am long-winded, but in the midst of all of this babbling I have made a promise…

I am finding out things about myself: or at least asking myself questions that I’ve never really examined before… The question surfaces – where do I belong? Here? There? And the inescapable answer, getting stronger all the time, is that I belong inside myself…

Shirley dear… I am worried: keep me updated.
And understanding, so completely!, your preschool traumae. I have described a few of them, have I not? Or are your crazies different from mine? Or are we all preconditioned to suspect ourselves: our abilities, our consistency, our stick-to-itiveness…

Enough jabbering. Please write to. We have time for one more round, I think, before this trip is finished.

I miss you, too. Awfully!
Thank you for listening -- again!!

Love,

Shiela