Letters to Luthien

Letters to My Future Bride

Merry Christmas, Darling

“Greeting cards have all been sent 
The Christmas rush is through 
But I still have one wish to make 
A special one for you 

Merry Christmas, darling 
We’re apart, that’s true 
But I can dream and in my dreams 
I’m Christmasing with you 

Holidays are joyful; there’s always something new 
But every day’s a holiday when I’m near to you 
The lights on my tree, I wish you could see…I wish it every day;
The l
ogs on the fire fill me with desire to see you and to say 

That I wish you Merry Christmas; Happy New Year, too 
I’ve just one wish on this Christmas Eve 
I wish I were with you 

The logs on the fire fill me with desire to see you and to say 
That I wish you Merry Christmas; Happy New Year, too 
I’ve just one wish on this Christmas Eve 
I wish I were with you…
I wish I were with you.”

We’ve spent all our Christmases apart, Darling. Maybe this will be the last. Goodnight, I love you, and merry Christmas.

Beren

December 25, 2013 Posted by | Holidays | Leave a comment

Christmas Attic

LoveLettersMy Darling,

Did you ever begin a letter or a phone call before you knew what you were actually going to say? Some nights, the words burst at the seams and my only fear is the time and eloquence to arrange them presentably. And then some nights, I realize I just want to write you without knowing what to say.

Christmas has been cast over my corner of the world. It came in quietly about a half-hour ago. Its precious and fleeting moments are barely here 24 hours, but lighting up lives in so many different ways. There’s not to be any snow here, and while disappointing, that’s nothing new. I’m not surprised, there’s not a lot of magic that lingers in this part of the country sufficient to conjure a white Christmas. That’s okay. Save the snow for some wonderful night when the magic has returned, the moon is as full as my heart, and you are in my arms.

I’m staying at my family’s tonight. We’ve made a temporary bed in the attic. I was a child up here once, what seems like eons ago. I played for hours with my brother and sister. I helped build the closet in the middle of the room. I sat cross-legged in bean bags reading. I remember two different aunts up staying up here, neither of whom particularly cared for my side of the family. Maybe you and I will stay up here some night when we come home to visit.

It’s been made over once or twice, this room. They use it for storage, books, clothes and a sewing corner. It’s sufficiently cozy for a night or two, and while getting ready for bed, I spy a clear plastic box across the room, a treasury of those letters I wrote about before. Only they’ve been sorted and rearranged; there’s more of them, dozens, dated the late 1920’s and addressed to my great-grandmother. They’re yellowed and feel exactly like you’d expect a trove of love letters from eighty-five years ago to be. That’s them, there in the picture above, see? The catch is, I can barely read the scribbled cursive!

“My Darling – ” this one begins.

My Darling –

Well Jane, I am very sorry for the act that I have made. If I had only done the right thing, I’d have brought you back with me when I married you.

Jane, you know deep down in your heart that I love only you, and for you to write me such [something] understandable [something] it just makes my heart ache with pain. I am so very sorry if I have caused you [something something] the last straw that you are unhappy. So Jane, I’ve made you every kind of promise in all the world and I’ve tried to keep them, if I broke any I am so sorry.

Here reads another, eight months prior:

Dearest Wife,

I am sure that you are having a real good time [something] as I suppose that you will something the dance of the [something] on the [something]. I suppose the whole town has gone mad over the affair.

It has been raining almost all day and say it is very bad [altitude?]. 

I wish I could decipher them better, but the script is poor and strange to my sight. Maybe one day when I have nothing better to do, I’ll transcribe them. I suspect the word “affair” doesn’t mean infidelity, but there’s clearly a story to be told.

I’m away to bed now. Don’t forget, tomorrow night, under the mistletoe.

Love,
Beren

December 25, 2013 Posted by | Holidays, Loneliness | , , | 2 Comments