(1993) The Stone Diaries (24 page)

With love from your niece, Beverly P.S. Mom doesn’t know I’m writing in regards to this matter, so if you write back, send to Box 422, that way it doesn’t go to their place.

Bloomington, Indiana, May 29, 1955

Dearest Daze, I wish to hell I could pour some good liquid cheer into this envelope. I know how down-and-out rotten you must be feeling these days. Well, no, I don’t exactly know—how could I?—but I can imagine what a misery it is to find yourself alone after all the time you and Barker have been together. What has it been?—I make it twenty years. Lordy, it does go by, time that is, the filthy robber.

And Alice off to college next fall! And all this so soon after your dad dying.

Anyway I’m not going to go on and on about "remembering you in my prayers" (ha!) and "time’s healing balm" and all that razzmatazz—you’ll get plenty of that from dear old Beans—who grows more pious and platitudinous each day. When Ma died she sprayed me with enough perfumed clichés to clog up my sinuses for a month. This note is just to remind you, old pal, that you’ve got lots of years left. Personally, I’m finding that being fifty isn’t half as bad as it’s cracked up to be—the old visage may be a bit pouchy and cross-hatched, but "everything that matters" is still in good working order, and no damn getting the curse either. So don’t climb into your widow’s weeds and wither away just yet, kiddo! What do you say we treat ourselves to a week in Chicago this winter. We could see a few shows, stay at the Palmer House, and eat like pigs. January would suit me—the gallery here is planning to close the last week of the month, and we’re "encouraged" to clear off. Lordy, remember the terrific time we had in New York three years ago, or was it four?—that hilarious waiter and his bouncing baby lobster!—I wonder, did you ever report all that to Barker, item for item? Yes or no?

Never mind replying—I can guess.

So let’s hit Chi-town and put a little life into our life, what say?

Surely there’s someone who could keep an eye on Warren and Joanie for a few days. Give it some thought.

Love, Fraidy Ottawa, May 29, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, We are delighted you will be able to attend our little tribute to your late husband. I should add that we would be very pleased to have your children in attendance as well.

And I thank you very much for your suggestion about the coverage of the Tulip Festival. We would indeed be honored to have a few words from you; about five hundred words would be ideal. I wish I had had the wit to suggest it myself since rumor has it you are a famous gardener in your own right.

With sincere good wishes, Jay W. Dudley, Editor Bloomington, Indiana, June 1, 1955

My dear old friend, Our hearts ache continually for you these days. Your burden has been unutterably heavy, losing your father in April, bless his soul, and now your dearly beloved mate. I feel sure that the many happy memories of your life together will sustain you in the dark days ahead, as will the presence of your loved ones and the prayers of your dear friends. Time does heal, that is what you must keep in mind, though of course we never really forget those who have played such a large part in our lives. Dick joins me in these few rushed words of sympathy. (After much pressure, he has accepted the transfer to the head office in Cleveland, and now we must face the sadness of putting our dear old house up for sale—unfortunately the market is not booming. It seems limestone has become a lemon.)

Lovingly, "Beans"

Ottawa, June 5, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, Just a note to express my thanks for the gracious remarks you contributed to our little ceremony yesterday. I believe I can say that we were all touched by your comments, particularly those concerning your late husband’s regard for the Recorder and all that it stands for in our community.

And speaking personally, it was a very great pleasure to meet you and your three charming children, and please don’t think for a minute I was offended by what your daughter, Alice, said about my necktie. I know how teenagers sometimes blurt out their thoughts and later regret it. I look forward eagerly to your article on the Tulip Festival. Five hundred words would do nicely, as I believe I mentioned, but please feel free to expand or contract, should you feel the need. We have a great many eager gardeners out there who will welcome your thoughts.

Sincerely, J.W.D., Editor Ottawa, June 9, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, Just a note to let you know your maiden flight, as you term it, will be landing next Saturday in the Sports and Home section. We found the piece you mailed in to be solid in the best journalistic sense, yet full of felicities, my favorite being your description of thinly planted tulips looking like "ninnies marching off to a picnic." Quite so.

If you are in agreement, we thought we might use "Mrs. Green Thumb" as a byline. I am a little uneasy about this suggestion, wondering if it might seem insensitive, certainly not my intention, so do please let me know if you have any reservations.

Sincerely, Jay Dudley Ottawa, June 15, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, I congratulate you on your coverage of our fair city’s annual Tulip Festival which I found fair, comprehensive, and flattering. Why flattering? Because you singled out, as being especially praiseworthy, one particular front yard on Fenton Avenue where you claim to have spotted a stand of "gorgeous Rembrandts backed by a gray-stained fence" (fourth paragraph). Since reading this, my good wife and I have persuaded ourselves that this must be a reference to our very own Rembrandts, and to our very own recently stained fence which has caught your attention and achieved the immortality of print.

Would you by any chance have an opinion on the use of fungicides to sterilize soil after an eruption of fire-blight?

With thanks, Alvin A. MacIntosh Ottawa, June 18, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Happy to see the Tulip Festival through female eyes for a change.

Liked what you said about bybloems. More people should speak out on said topic. Hope you’ll continue with the Recorder column.

Frankly, I often found the ex-gardens writer, Mr. Green Thumb, uncommitted on the subject of broken varieties. A bit nambypamby on fertilizers too.

Yours, Doris Griswold P.S. I’m with you one hundred percent on the question of pastels mixed with pures.

Climax, Saskatchewan, June 25, 1955

Dear Auntie, I’ve been keeping my fingers crossed for a letter from you, but the days go by and no luck so far. I guess, truth to tell, I’m getting sort of nervous, and the reason is, I might as well tell you straight out, I’m in the family way, only nobody around here knows about it, especially my folks who would go up in smoke if they got wind of it.

It’s a long story, how it happened, I mean, but now I’m starting to show and I’ve got to do something real soon before everyone starts putting two and two together. What I want to do is get way far away from here and make a fresh start. Then when the time comes I’ll put the baby up for adoption and get a job using my typing skills. I just know everything will work out in the end, but the problem is I don’t know how to get things started, if you know what I mean. It’s like there’s this great big wheel I’ve got to start rolling only I don’t seem to have the muscles to get it going. That’s why I was hoping you could maybe help me out for a few months. I mentioned room and board and forty dollars a month when I wrote, but really room and board is all I need. In fact I’d be grateful for that.

With love, Your niece Beverly Ottawa, June 29, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, As you can see from the enclosed letters, your Tulip Festival article was a great success. Everyone, including myself, seemed to respond to your plea for bolder arrangements and to your closing-off remark: "Beauty takes courage. Courage itself takes courage." Well said!

We do hope—I speak for the whole staff—that you’ll do a repeat performance. In fact, could you possibly see your way to doing a monthly, or even a weekly, column for us? I realize this request comes very soon after your late husband’s demise, and that you may not feel up to making a firm commitment at this time. But, speaking from experience (my wife died only three years ago), I believe occupation to be the most effective means of dealing with bereavement.

I am returning the cheque, which you charmingly returned to me. But, of course, we insist on payment for all our writers. I only wish it were more bountiful.

Yours sincerely, Jay Climax, Saskatchewan, July 7, 1955

Dear Auntie, This is written in haste. I can’t wait to see you and the kiddies, and I can’t thank you enough for sending the train ticket.

Loads of love. I’ve got this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach of my life starting all over again. So long till next Wednesday.

Beverly Boston University, July 12, 1955

My dear Mrs. Flett, I do appreciate your writing about the availability of your husband’s fine Cypripedium collection which I have seen and admired, but I am afraid the collection is not complete enough for us to consider for purchase, nor is it at a standard of preservation we can accept for our museum, particularly the older specimens, montanum, for instance, also calceolus.

With best wishes and sincere condolences, Leonard Lemay, Chairman of Botany Ottawa, August 17, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, I’ve done like you said in last week’s paper, cultivating around my hybrid teas and hybrid perpetuals, and also I’ve followed your advice with the bonemeal. So far so good. Now I’m wondering how you feel about staking perennial asters this early in the year.

Yours truly, S. J. Provost Ottawa, August 18, 1955

Dear Mrs. F., Many thanks for sending in another wonderful column—and professionally typed too! You do have a way with a phrase: "The succulence and snap of an apple leaf." Very nice indeed.

Hope you’re surviving our heat wave.

Best, Jay Perth, Ontario, September 12, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Here’s a useful tip for your readers. If you cut back your golden glow you’ll get a second bloom. Actually I try to get around to this in August. Thanks for the instructions about Madonna lilies. I’ve committed mine to the earth, blessed them solemnly with a sprinkle of fertilizer, and am hoping for the best.

Cheers, Mrs. Donald Fourtier Smith College, Northampton, Mass., September 15, 1955

Dear All, Whew, well, I got through registration at last, and now I feel I can get through anything. Got admitted to the Russian Lit program after all. The prof—everyone calls him Zeus—said he couldn’t believe I’d managed to get to this level with just two years of high-school Russian.

Yes, it’s true, everyone here wears Bermuda shorts all the time, classes and everywhere. I could use a couple more pairs if Beverly’s looking around for something to sew. (Hi, Beverly, hope you’re feeling okay.) I was thinking a nice brown tweed (sort of tobacco shade) would go great with that lambswool sweater of mine, and maybe something in a subdued blue and white check, not too large checks though.

I suppose "Mrs. Green Thumb" is getting more famous every day. Which is really neat. Really, I mean it. I honestly didn’t mean what I said about replacing Dad and forgetting his memory and all that. I was just in a lousy mood all summer hanging around the house and the heat and worrying about going away and stuff. I really honestly think this column thing could be sort of fulfilling, if you know what I mean, since you’ve never really done anything before, not counting the usual Betty Crocker stuff. Maybe you’ve truly got some latent ability, in the writing line I mean.

Gotta run before the library closes. I really truly feel I’m reaching the real Chekhov now. In his own language, I mean, cuz all of a sudden he’s got TEXTURE and DEPTH that doesn’t begin to show up in those stupid little translations people put up with.

Love, Alice Ottawa, October 5, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Boy, did I get a kick out of last week’s column on garden pests, including "small neighborhood boys that attack the apple trees."

Thanks, too, for all the helpful hints of what to do with crabapples. I liked your last suggestion best—just throw ’em away. Great idea.

Betty Singer (A Real Fan)

Bloomington, Indiana, October 6, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, We hope it won’t be too much longer before your late father’s affairs are satisfactorily settled, but, as you know, his investment portfolio was more complicated than most. I have tried for several days to reach his widow by telephone, but have received no answer.

Her instructions have been followed regarding the division of the property, with full protection afforded your father’s pyramid as a "permanent memorial" to his life. We are anxious to procure her signature on a number of documents relating to the will. Do you happen to know if she is traveling at the moment, and, if so, when she will return to the Bloomington area?

Yours truly, Calvin K. Kopps (Bregnam & Kopps)

Bloomington, Indiana, November 1, 1955

Dear Daze, A quick note. No luck tracking down Maria. Georgio (my latest) and I drove out to Lake Lemon on Sunday and found the place locked up tight as a drum. The neighbors say they haven’t seen her around for a good month or so. Where do we go from here? Let me know.

I’m all set for Chicago, and I’ve reserved our room, very posh too, why the hell not?—have you got your train tickets yet?

Love, Fraidy Ottawa, November 4, 1955

Dear Mrs. F., Your proposed piece on the Chicago Horticultural Conservatory sounds perfect for January, also the Morton Arboretum. I haven’t visited that renowned city myself, but I understand it is extremely beautiful, despite its reputation for gangsters and graft. I would like you to know that if you should ever find you can’t manage a column (due to illness or other interruption) we can always get Pinky Fulham on the staff here to fill in for you. Although he usually covers civic events, he is a keen gardener and, incidentally, a great admirer of your columns.

Yours, J.

Northampton, Mass., November 8, 1955

Dear Mother, Let me say right off that you’ve completely lost your marbles about this baby business. I thought the whole idea was that Beverly was going to have it adopted and then start a new life. Here’s Warren nearly 16 and Joan 14, the last thing you need is a screaming infant around the house.