Packing Up

Dear,

I enjoyed your latest letter, though it left me melancholy: as melancholy possibly as you were writing it? Which is surely a sign of an effective writer: using the medium to convey her own emotion. Most writers don’t I think, if it were, all we’d ever feel when reading would be a hankering for more coffee and a nagging worry about the latest bills…

I am going to surprise you now. I even surprise myself. You see, what with one thing and another, and me getting to be quite the cranky old lady, I have decided to give my neighbors some peace and myself some space, and go traveling. Whence, I do not know.

I have always dreamed of reading some important work of fiction in the place it is set: and that is what I will do. Only, I do not know where to start. I suppose Jules Verne would be a an easy option, not having to choose one place but always continue on. Or India, several good books are set there. Have you any ideas?

I have decided to leave at the end of the month, and am currently packing up my belongings, such as they are, and putting the house on the market. Quite tedious, as all preparations are once you’ve settled on a course of action and want only to get on with it.

Unfortunately, this means I might be an infrequent correspondent once I “hit the road” as the expression goes. But you can be sure I will write, and what with all the new vistas and so on that will open before me, I might even have something interesting to convey. The one time I ever attempted poetry, was after visiting the beaches of Normandy. Who knows, I might hit you with a sonnet when you least expect it!

But, I am not gone yet. I look forward to your input on where I should go – perhaps I should even leave the matter in your hands… Only please don’t send me to Italy – I feel that country had been done to death even before the twins were weaned…

Best love,

R

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