On entering my newest year

In Buffalo. In a sculpture.

I celebrated 50 years with a jazz conert and a campaign to feed the hungry. But time marches on and so does my mind.

I was a decent letter writer back in the day. Over time it stopped. I hear that the post office still sends out such things. I imagine my friends have addresses they might share if I am lacking their current location.

So I had this thought, I will send a letter a week for the next year. Not a note, but a letter, hand written. I'm rusty. Beware my friends; I have memories of nearly getting straight A's in elementary school but being thwarted by some harsh C- marks for penmanship. Over time I developed a half cursive/ half printing scrawl. I think it can be deciphered.

Some letters may include a Stratozpheric card or maybe a suncatcher that seems to need a home. Some may be tucked inside a card that catches my eye or one of the cards sent recently by a friend. Maybe a commission will spark a letter. Some will fly solo inside an envelope. The goal is not to draw cards or give away art. I desire to return to writing letters.

Letter writing is a chance to reflect upon what is happening in my life. Like pizza making it may become a habit, something I am known for.

And who knows, if one of the letters gets a response, a life long correspondence may happen. That would be quite splendid.