Dear Susan,
It was sure nice to hear your voice after all this time! I promise I won't wait so long next time..
I was going to hand write you a letter, but apparently this letter is going to be longish and I type a lot faster than I print!
Enclosed are the statements I have from this year; there are two accounts, one with TDAmeritrade, a basic stock account, and one with Vanguard which is an IRA. It shouldn't be hard or complicated- ---mostly emotional. I imagine you'll need a copy of the death certificate and the will; your lawyer will certainly know what to do if you come up to a snag, and Art is your steady support.
You asked about poetry, so, at the risk of inundation, I'm sending you a folder of poems, and a small self-published book done in 2016, when my dad and I took a college course from Professor Marina Shipova (the wife of my music partner Noel) on self-publishing, and we each published a book. The inundation: more recent poems, loose in the back of the folder.. Dad has continued to publish, and has now 4 books to his name. All short stories, sort of O'Henry-ish and a little more thought-ful as he goes along.
I sort of gave up on publishing for the time being and am rather trying to just keep up with my life in general..eh? But lately have been working on hand-written copies into bound journals. This is laborious as you may well imagine, but it gives me time to think about What Are You Really Trying To Say, and reminds me that my self is consistent over the years. It's a journal, no question, and I journal best when I'm struggling over something, so, SORRY!! Some of it is a pure slog. I've realized writing is my meditation, more or less, and writing really is a surprise. The things I come up with, the things I realize, the things I see. Also, much cheaper than therapy, and I have something to show for it. Hahahaha! Seriously!
And in the meantime, I'm doing massage, taking continuing ed according to what interests me and is useful, going for walks with my neighbor when it's not too friggin cold (we're geraniums out here and perish at 25 degrees) and am still playing music with Noel.
In 2013, my mom died in April. A month later, NOEL's mom died, and before he knew about it that day, HE fell off a roof doing an electrical job in downtown Sequim. He landed on pavement and smashed his left wrist to bits, and cracked his hip in 3 places. Somehow, he did not break his skull. Anyway, he was in a cast for months and months, and had to start over with everything the left hand does, especially the guitar. (His chord hand, you know, and the wrist was all remade with cadaver bone and plastic bits, screws, etc.) So, we have not played professionally since. We get together every week and play. Sometimes we sit and watch a movie. We're getting old. Seriously. I am not kidding. He HAS been writing a lot of songs, and over the first few rough years of recovery, he regained about 99.9 % of his fluidity on the guitar, which is just stupifying. He still complains about his "deficiency", and I still remind him that He Lived, and nobody else can tell that he doesn't play Just Like He Used To, even Me. So we're still learning music. Just too old and cranky to play out.
My Dad helped me to buy out your half, as you may have realized, and then he totally blew me away by paying off my mortgage. This was a forward, and would come out of my inheritance. When my brother found out, he went ballistic. He'd been getting more aggressive toward Dad and was making things uncomfortable for Diedra, and in the end, Dad and the lawyer came up with an exit strategy for my brother, involving giving him some money up front, and the rest after he was out of the house. He had two weeks to leave. Money is a strong motivator. He was out, lock stock and barrel, and we have not heard from him since. Apparently he lives in Port Angeles, because I have seen him occasionally near the library. Long story short, we are all relieved and he appears to be in better health (lost weight because, no car by choice, and walks everywhere) and doing well enough.
Doug has lately finished a building project in the back yard, hidden in the trees. Roughly 400 square feet with a small "Meditation Loft" complete with staircase, lots of windows, and a beautiful door. It's his Man Cabin, and he has his futon there, along with stereo, records, a small desk and a couple of low coffee tables. He can get away from the Cats and The Woman back there and read until 2:30 am if he wants. It's very cool. You can not see it either from the road or from the sky. He's working on music all the time and just gets better and better. He wants me to sing the blues, but I'm too English Lady-ish and must stick to my melodic ballads.
And, yada yada.
Put me in your email contacts list, will you? sidneyspath@ gmail.com, and email me with your email address? And if you venture into Facebook, please let me know. If you only befriend me, you will be richly entertained with lovely pictures and pithy comments, and you don't have to have any other people in your face. book.
Probably much more to say but the clock is tapping me on the shoulder.
Love, Sidney
