A R C H I V E S
Thanks
for
visiting.
07.19.98
An email
about CD 50
(not published
until Dec. 2000)
Open
letter to the
editors of Clandestiny
Today,
due to a previous commitment which I allowed my daughter to make, I was
unable to be at the Valley for Summer Hurray Day. I regret that, wanting
to be "where the action is" and in on the activity of the Clan. I wish
I could be there. Instead, this morning after I got Caitlan settled into
her baby-sitting job, I started ticking off all the jobs I "should" accomplish
at home since I couldn't be helping at the Valley— clean the oven,
clean the refrigerator, put all the furniture back after the carpet cleaning,
write some more on the computer curriculum plan that I'm supposed to have
done before school starts (actually was supposed to be done before school
ended), start preparing Brendan's room for painting, etc., etc., etc.
But first I decided to have a cup of coffee and read the paper, allowing
myself this indulgence before a day of work, not rest. Having done so,
I cleaned up the paper and lying next to it was the Clandestiny envelope.
"Not now," I thought, "but I ought to at least take the photo out." I
pulled out the packet, gasped at the cover and decided to take just a
quick look. Four hours later and having no tears left, I write this message
to you.
I have been unable to write for Clandestiny for about six years. Sometimes
there were no ideas. When there were ideas, there was no inspiration.
There were plenty of guilt and self-admonishment, for I knew that I would
regret my non-contribution when my kids (and hopefully grand-kids) looked
at the issues, but not enough to spur me to action. Even when my own kids
wanted to know why I didn't write, it didn't shame me into writing even
a little something. It just wasn't there. Even when I composed whole columns
in my head (one in particular was called "The Dixonary, Gitzens, and the
Dodgie Song"), I couldn't put them down on paper. The music was over,
the spark gone out.
Today I read and read and read because I could not put it down. Nothing
could have stopped me. Tomorrow I will go to the copier's and get three
more copies made, bind them all in covers, and together my children and
I will read them. Something has reached closure for me today. Something
has reached 50, and halfway point. Something has turned a corner and taken
a different direction.
For some reason I have lived the past six months with a sense of foreboding,
as if I should prepare myself for the next "event" that life would hand
me. At times I thought it would be a job change (not necessarily of my
choosing). Brendan's impending departure from our household may be the
cloud hanging over my head, too... I just don't know. But having read
the wonderful compendium of my father's thoughts and insights and memories
and, yes, fears, some kind of catharsis happened to me. What an amazing
man.
Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. I miss him so terribly,
terribly much. For a little while today I had him back with me. Now I
can go on.
I love you,
Joan Dixon Adkins
