An old letter.

The handwriting on the letter looked familiar. It was written 32 years ago on October 8, 1986. Scrutinizing, as I did, the style, the curves and the construction of the sentences,  I knew that it was a handwriting no longer recognized. My intuition told me that the sender was a woman so it's a Miss Sender, if you please. Nobody writes these days, I lamented as I forgave myself for this inopportune "amnesia". The way the "D" in "Dear" and the way my name was written looked familiar but the proverbial bell did not ring. The only way to end this torture was to check the signature on the last page, but that would be scandalous!

Now I read the letter with some curiosity. Miss Sender began by writing that the week in question was meant for old friends. (...so I was an old friend) She had long-lost friends calling her up or writing her a note. (... so I wrote her a note!) She thought it was great to be remembered. (... so I remembered her, 32 years ago. ~~~ The occasion called for a guilty squirm, which duly presented itself.)

The Society of Planters (publishing business) were mentioned together with a statement which read ... "It's fated that I can't be doing what I want to do most."

I wondered if I ever asked what it was that she wanted to do most. How impudent it had been for me never to ask. Perhaps I did, 32 years ago, and then forgot all about it. Who can she be? I don't recall having any friends with the Society of Planters.

Next, she told me she was working on a book about "Buffalo Draught Power", and if I were to ask her anything about buffaloes, "she'd give me the facts and figures."

A question came to mind belatedly. Are female buffaloes called "cows"?

Apparently not. - "Cows" usually refers to the female of the bovine species, "Bulls" are the uncastrated male, while "ox" are the castrated males. "Buffalo" refers to an entirely different species. (Mr Google)

Page 2 were mostly about some flowers I sent, Mensa, an interview and complaints about my letter being sketchy as I "flit from one subject to another like a butterfly". (One of my shortcomings, to be sure.  I have too many stuff in my head and needed to get them all out before they're forgotten.)

What followed was a chunk of yada-yada-yada about houses and home and soon I was on Page 3. Without reading any further, my eyes shot to the name at the bottom.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. I should have got it right from the "D" in the "Dear" at the beginning of the letter.

Miss Sender is an old school chum, a bosom friend, a kindred spirit. Her handwriting is something else.

So on a contrite note, I think I'll pick up my pen and send her a note, if it's just to say "Hello!"

Chatting Over Coffee

Eight is a good number to chat over coffee. One can speak and be heard when there are only eight ears to mesmerize, and chat some, we did.

We talked about wriggling globs of pus from inflamed root canal, which congregated within a- friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend to become a brain tumor.  Then we heard about pus collecting in someone's gum and its subsequent drainage by a dental surgeon. We listened to the depressing reality of receding gum which made bridging and tooth transplanting a no-no. The Dastardly Denture, mourned most of us, were the last remaining option.

A new topic rose across from me. Baking soda with shampoo induces hair growth. How this story came about was never questioned for most of us were captivated by the "induces hair growth" detail of the chat. As we made mental notes to add baking soda to our shampooing regime, the voice across from me added a new bomb shell. Baking soda with soap when used to scrub over one's thigh removes cellulite! Of course, there is a possibility that instead of removing cellulite, such a ritual could induce more hair growth right about there.

Finally we came to the usual part of the final chat where a Europe tour was brought up for digestion. We would fly to London, someone suggested, and drive all the way up to Ireland. What began with one driver in one car, became two cars, a van and finally a coach with storage at the bottom for our luggage and preferably a lavatory at the back.

Nonetheless, it was a great chat. Great coffee. Great company. And as each of us dispersed, the coach, the driver, the car blended into the background.

Reality is on the front seat.