Dear Picton & co - Picton, Day 9

Dear Picton & co.,

If you weren’t around earlier during my residency you missed out on the letter that led to the XO poll I conducted this past week.

Written by a 7-year-old boy to his pen pal, a jet-setting Australian rabbit, it ended with 1606 O’s keyed across the bottom of the page.  On first read, given the time to think about it, my mind turned to the disparity between the way I write XO and what I understand it to mean letter for letter. That is to say, if ever I were to have occasion to dictate a letter I’d say hugs and kisses aloud, but expect my administrative assistant to transcribe XO, not only because  (as one woman pointed out this week) otherwise I’d be signing-off Ox.

In the spirit of this project I opened up the question: What do you think O’s stand for, hugs or kisses?

I waited until I received 100 responses before I closed the polls both at Books & Company and on facebook.

The results breakdown as follows:

3%   - Undecided

21% - O’s are kisses

76% - O’s are hugs

Not included in these tallies is the (now not so little) boy’s answer: O’s are hugs.

Some history on the subject to support these findings, gathered randomly from the internet, suggests X’s became known as kisses as a natural evolution of kissing an X, written in lieu of a signature, on a document. Another theory maintains that an X stands for kisses because it resembles two mouths touching, while O’s symbolize arms extended in a hug. Google answers include a number of other abbreviated signoffs currently used in chatrooms: XX@, kisses with earlobe nibbling and CCC, hugs for people who you can’t quite reach around, are among my favorites.

On the streets of Picton many of the O’s for kisses people based their answers on the shape made with their mouths when kissing. Regardless what your take is on the subject...

Thank You Picton,

&

Thank You Books & Company

XO -> ∞ 

Wendy

P.S. I’ll be posting the Picton wrap-up soon!

P.P.S This chapter of Voices at Hand was made possible by the generosity of the Ontario Arts Council... Merci OAC!
Onwards to Minden, ON in September!

This Just In - Picton, Day 8

It was a grand day for submissions today! When I arrived at Books & Company early to get myself a cup of coffee at the café next door, there were a few people with letters waiting for me (proof that classifieds and word-of-mouth work equally well). And when I checked my inbox, as promised, an email from a woman I spoke with yesterday was also waiting. 

I spent the better part of my afternoon reading letters from the 'hatbox'. I still have a ways to go and I am no nearer to a definitive category title partly because my mind kept turning back to my most recent email.

A one-page group missive written in 2009, it recounts a bit of expat - NGO life in Cambodia alongside a lot of historically informed travelogue and is written in a way that places you right alongside the writer.

A paragraph that begins “ Parts of the ‘mountain’ reminded me of the Niagara Escarpment” made me feel remarkably at home, so much so that essence of the following paragraph cut even deeper.  For now, I’ve filed this letter under ”Travails,” it could fit just as as well under in “History” or “Hope.” I’d best sleep on it, but I'm leaning towards "Hope"!

“Parts of the 'mountain' reminded me of the Niagara Escarpment.  There are huge caves and deep holes in the limestone cliffs along the trail up to the temples.  I knew the KR used this hill as a base when they ruled Cambodia from 75-79.  This is the location where they took peasants who were too weak to continue working in the fields to kill them.  The caves were once full of skeletons- one with adult remains, the other with children's remains.  They have set up Buddhist shrines in these caves and there are small piles of skulls and bones still there.

I was not prepared for how intensely I responded to the cave where children were killed.  The sadness of it all was a physical pain in my chest and I couldn't help shedding some tears.  It was all the more intense knowing the Cambodian staff who work with MJP here.  Many of them were children themselves at the time and lost parents and friends in these killing caves.  There is a tragically horrible streak in humankind that perpetrates these atrocities. I needed to remind myself of the flip side - the resiliency of Cambodian people, their ability to live through the horror, and their determination and optimism as they work to make it better for the next generation.”  

Taisy and Company - Picton, Day 7

Today I mustered the courage to face some correspondence I’ve been sidestepping since the outset of the Picton project—a series of French letters written in rural Quebec and a large hatbox stuffed with mail.

I can usually work my way through French text, but I was stymied by 25 letters written in the mid-40s through 60s in Clova, Abitibi, Que. (a former forestry town that now serves as a fishing outpost).  I tried to read them on several occasions, stumbling over the unfamiliar, until tonight when my father-in-law, who was raised in rural Quebec, identified they are written phonetically in a real French-Canadian patois.

Now that we’ve cracked the code “ Bonjour ma chaire bonne petite maire, comman alle vous” and the like won’t stump me again!

As for the hatbox, I made some headway this morning after I counted and stacked the letters into smaller groupings. There are 340 in all and I’ve read less than a ¼, still I feel it is doable by the close of this residency on Tuesday. My hesitation with the hatbox runs deeper though.

 

Again, I’m confronted with the question of whether I should split a collection, (in this case the largest single donation to Voices). Can I ensure privacy and protect the donor’s identity if I don’t divide the hatbox contents amongst the existing categories? Is it more important to respect the spirit in which a donation was made?

In the end I decided to keep these collections as they have come to me. Together the letters in “Bonjour de Clova, Abitibi” provide a glimpse of life in a town that no longer exists.

Another glimpse into rural life in Quebec can be found in “Affectionately, Taisy & co.”:

“We spent the holidays very quietly. No one came, and we went nowhere. As you perhaps know our road is isolated at this end, and life as we see it goes by on wheels beyond the fork.”   

 I think I will eventually divide the letters in “Orbiting N” (working title) into categories, but only within the confines of the hatbox, where they can quietly tell their story and still be part of the whole.

Best Friends Forever - Picton, Day 6

My flirtation with a correspondence-remix continues tonight and tomorrow in the letters of the day posted in the window of Books & Company.

A random sampling of readings from B.F.F. is fairly self explanatory, but a reassessment of The Word From Snod, where I zoned in on 20 letters shared between Snod and an old pal made me think I should re-shuffle the decks.

Snod is joined by a continuum of characters:

A young girl making up with her friends after they have betrayed her trust:

 “I guess I must forgive pretty easily, because I am friends with Laurie and Kim still, after they said that they were sorry I just forgot about it and was friends with them again.”

A university bound young woman outfitting a house:

“Here is a list of the stuff I’m bringing, so that we don’t end up with four of everything... I hear you can bring a microwave.”

A friend back home who wants to hear all about frosh week and classes...

And a fortune cookie prediction attached to a tea-towel chain letter predicting:

“ You or a close friend will be married in a year.”

 I think he is in good company!

The X & O poll closed tonight. Results soon!  

State of the Art(s) - Picton, Day 5

I know it isn’t exactly scientific of me to add categories as I go along, but a recent submission of email correspondence between two smart, funny people defending the arts and the art of letter writing demanded their own spot on the stage. I love how State of the Art(s) fills a void in the collection and opens up the potential for a letter- remix. I’ve started that process with the selection of letters posted in the window tonight.

A favorite written in 1983 from Wayfinding ( see Day 7 from the Toronto residency) ends:

"Please enclose a quote. Remember the art of letter writing is a dying art and we must do our part to keep the tradition alive. Who knows maybe our grandchildren won’t know what the word letter means. The horror, the horror!"

This love of the written word is carried through the emails:

 Dear T

You're letter was absolutely beautiful. I'm sorry to hear the news has been so hard to bear. But the letter itself was wonderful. It put all the desultory details of the everyday away in the background, and was like a blast of what really matters. I'm sure I want to write the best letter I can back.

I'm writing now to thank you for reminding me we're all alive, and to say I'll write properly soon. ...For now, I just wanted to thank you. Your letter is still ringing in my head.
Love,

A

Dear A

Thank you for your splendid letter. It deserved an 

immediate and lavish response. I've been looking for 

the time when I could sit down and write a real 

letter, a warm, personal, funny, talkative letter. I 

find E-mail kind of odd. You've mastered it 

brilliantly, just making it another personal tool to 

communicate so intimately with. I still need to 

pretend I am using a pen and shielding my pages 

with the other hand. Anyway, I'm just going to 

blab away and fire this off to you. 

It's wonderful to get a letter like yours, from 

someone who writes so fluidly and so funnily. 

And he does! In another email A sums up his take on a career in the Arts. Drop by Books & Company  to hear more...   

"My old friend said, with a wave of his cigar, "You're in showbiz, A. You could maybe give her a few pointers." Then he turned to her and said, "This guy's been around for a few years. He'll put you right. Listen to him." And they all marched off to see to the barbecue and left us alone in the piano room to talk. My "career" was at a particularly low ebb at that point, so the absurdity of me giving anyone any advice seemed too obvious. That might, in fact, have been the time I coined the expression, "Failure hasn't changed me a bit." In the end I said, "Do it. Because even if it all goes horribly wrong and you never make a bean and never get anywhere, then at least your
friends will end up being exactly the people you'd want to be your friend."

Embracing Ambiguity - Picton, Day 3 & 4

There is a great line in a song by Wilco, my husband played for me last night on the drive home from Books & Company.

“I can’t find the time to write my mind, the way I want it to read.”

This pretty much sums up my state of mind these past two days—sorting and filing letters into categories isn’t always straightforward!

Take this letter from an older brother talking his sister through a rough patch after the death of their father:

"Personally, I don’t think you are “all screwed up & unhappy.” You continue to be the extraordinarily bright, sensitive & thoughtful spreader of light I’ve always known."

Or this letter from parents writing in response to their daughter’s “very, very, sorry letter” after an incident at Boarding School:

"Enough said. I think you and Annie have learnt the hard way and as long as you do learn from your experiences good & bad, that is all part of life & growing up. I can tell you from my mature years that it is a never-ending process and I suppose that is what life is all about. It is important not to hurt people and humbling to have to say ‘sorry’, but I hope you did particularly to the teachers who had to deal with you while you were “appallingly” (Di’s word) drunk & clear up all this mess. If you feel you haven’t done this in your heart don’t be afraid to do it now."

My impulse is that they belong in Counsel, but they could just as easily fit in Firm Ground.

Another recent submission that feels right for Counsel is an aerogram from an older brother serving in the flying corps in WWII:

"Hope you are still studying hard & making fair marks. You don’t know how lucky you are to be in Canada & at College. Some of the sights here are pretty awful. Children & older people are glad to eat garbage that we throw away... "  

Last night I posted it the window alongside Richard’s letter from Counsel and tonight I left it up with some POW letters that I will file in History.   

No doubt I’ll have to develop a system for cross- referencing letters ­—there is such beauty in the nuances. 

Will write again soon,

Wendy

P.S. The XO poll continues. O’s for hugs are in the lead.

P.P.S. I’m up to 44 categories now - more on that later.

Are O's hugs or kisses? - Picton, Day 2

This became the burning question of the day after reading a letter with 1606  O’s  keyed across the bottom. 

Written by a seven-year-old boy it came to me in a collection of ten imaginative letters, exchanged between the boy and  “My Friend the Rabbit”.  Apparently as well travelled, as he is loved, the father behind the rabbit’s quill had the letters sent from Australia even though he shares a warren with the boy. I’m told the ruse went on for four years until the boy turned ten. It’s not clear whether the identity of the rabbit was ever revealed, but I had to vow not to use the boy’s surname.

 

Later today a new category emerged when I came across a similar letter written to another lad by a miniature man named Petro living in a Montreal walk-up. The author?  The boy’s Great Aunt, but don’t tell! The category? Formative Yarns – that makes 43 in all.

More tomorrow. R.S.V.P. re X’s & O’s!!    

Summer Love - Picton, Day 1

As you might expect, Love  was one of, if not the first, category I came up with in the spring of 2010, when I began Voices at Hand. In retrospect it’s a bit surprising that it took me this long to add Summer Love. Yesterday, on one of the hottest dog-days, in a town that hops all summer long, it became #42. I’m taking this as a resounding endorsement of my decision to travel this project and mount it in different seasons! 

It helped that the letters I laid my hands on first were so thoughtfully chosen by the donor: A collection from two brothers, aged 7 and 13, competing for the affections of a thirteen year old girl and a suite of letters from a teen wooing the same girl later in the '70s filled with promises to pay for her rides at the Ex and plea to take her to the B.T.O. concert. Spoiler Alert: it’s over by February; he has “changed since last summer.”

More later today,

 

Wendy