The following are photos and a live writing transcript in response to Episode 1.1.
I've been wanting to start this for sometime. Today I finally sat down to do it and there have been no end of interruptions. There is an insane amount of drilling going on in the building - like plaster cracking, ear-splitting, sanity-destroying drilling. And then a delivery arrived in the middle of beginning to write.
It's really wonderful to hear him say how much he loves her. He calls her Pep. Is that short for Pepper Pot? Perhaps this nickname goes both ways.
I'm struck by the juxtaposition between my situation and that of my grandparents in the letter.
The letter contains drawings. I didn't realise Jack liked to draw.
He talks about the photos. Shots! Shats, Skats. He meant shots. He wanted to explain to her the shots. The photos he took.
I'm struck by his concern, like hers, with the minutiae of life. 18 cents per slide with Kodachrome v. 50 cents over the counter. Don't send things in a cigar box, they don't hold up.
I'm struck by how he talks about coming home, as if there is no doubt that he will. I wonder if he absolutely felt that way, or if he just said it, or if it was somewhere in between.
Or do they really have a genuine sense that that things will all be fine? I would love to be able to tap into that.
I've been thinking lately about the way couples manage mutually-impactful trauma. Like war, or, more mundanely, financial problems. It's not like illness, where the healthy person supports the one who's ill. When you're both in it, both of you, together, it's a delicate balancing act. They need to keep it light for each other. Is that what they're doing, sending silly drawings 10,000 miles through the post, discussing the small, pedestrian details of life?
I saw an exhibition on 1917 at the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow in January. The curators made a point of emphasising that we should not be looking at the artworks and historical objects in the exhibition from the vantage point of 2018. Try to unknown what you know about what happened next.
I hear him in the letter, my dad.
I try to unknow. I try to unspin. I try to untie. You're 25 and you're far from home and - what do you think is going to come next? Do you just not think about it?
My dad was a bit like that, when he was ill. As if saying the thing he dreaded might make it come to pass. Better to stay focused on the day-to-day.
I think that's enough for today.
Begood - Behappy - Beloved
