This little transcription of events are completely true. I was writing a letter to my husband, Dan, who was away for a long time (a week or 2) on business in Japan. I really wanted him to know how our days at home (12115 Farnam St.) were going. I think I also wanted to document them for myself, because I had a feeling that in the future when days had calmed, and children (and the dog) were gone, I might not recall the details of how we actually lived.

He’s never read this letter that I know of. It’s been in my drawer all of these years. No particular reason. I think I wrote it as a kind of recreation, a fun thing to do.

So, I’m sharing it here.

Wednesday, November 20, 1991

Dear Dan,

Today, Conor was in tears, begging for rollerblades. Kind of sad, really.

It was a pretty good day! Right now, it is 12:30 AM. I am awake and in bliss having spent 2 hours on creative clothing design for Barbie dolls. As you know, I have a little business making doll clothes, as Mom did before me. The touch of the furs, silks, velvets and wools is so wonderful I could be up all night. Common sense prevails and I tuck myself in. Then, I’m nervously hearing noises and think that somehow our house is vulnerable. Dan’s car at the airport could get broken into and the registration would give our address and the garage door opener would be in his car——-oh this is silly, I say to myself. I get out of bed to double check locks around the house, especially the deadbolt on the garage door.

It was a pretty good day.

Up at 6:30, morning routine until 8:00.

Go to Nieman’s to pick up car pool.

Girls are running late.

Katie gets in car, “Oh wait!” (Forgot her glasses), then says Conor, “So did I!”

So home to get them we did fly.

Now, in a traffic lane, awaiting our turn, 8:07, 3 minutes to burn.

But what do we see, kids going inside, Oh no! Can our car clock be slow?

It was a pretty good day. I had only 5 loads of laundry (Conor had to borrow Brandon’s undies because he couldn’t find any and had tried boxer shorts under his uniform pants and decided it wasn’t going to work. Luckily, Brandon had done his wash the evening before).

Today, my washing is done between trips to St. Robert’s School and the Vet and UNO and shopping with Leigh for Kelly’s birthday present and cooking supper in 1/2 hour (tomato soup, polish dogs, mac n cheese) and taking Conor to Scouts and returning the movie, “Robin Hood” to Blockbuster, even though there was begging to let it remain in our house a few hours longer.

It was a pretty good day. The tire on my car didn’t need air, the car didn’t need gas or oil. It just faithfully, securely got me where I was going. And Conor didn’t cry or pout about not getting rollerblades.

I did fall asleep for 2 short naps at Joslyn during my art history lecture but actually felt so refreshed afterward that I enjoyed the modern architecture segment.

I found a parking spot reasonably close to my 12:00 class and my expensive paper ($2.75/sheet) drawing fell on the street only once. Mr. Hill was encouraging while I worked on my oil pastel. He compared it to a successful artist’s work, “but his didn’t get muddy.” and “You can’t always have winners”. But I know I can sometimes, so I keep on drawing, and casually conversing about life with my classmates and teacher.

A centrillion thoughts go through my mind—-wrap those presents for S.O.S. Christmas sharing by Friday, get a hair appt.,Dan, how are you, so far away? What’s this, we’re out of milk? I want to sew (maybe on Thursday), buy some scotch tape (for the wrapping), demanding kids, darling kids, and don’t slam that family room door again!

It was a pretty good day, a perfect day, really, a Wednesday, a weekday crammed full of stuff to do for me, for you (plural). Fifty degrees, fresh air, and sunshine. Conor and Jon R. and Brandon are shooting baskets as I return at 5:30. Leigh’s bike is parked in Brad’s driveway across the street. I love this life. Wish you were here.

Shirley