Meandering like a restless wind
inside a letterbox, a Jedi letterbox, perhaps, like the new R2D2 mail receptacles rolling out with the advent of a new season, I made my way to work this morning cheered by the flashes of pink and white on branches along the walk to the metro station.
It was a little grey in the nation’s capital yesterday for the first day of spring, and my playlist ranged from the Electric Soft Parade to the wonderful, warm lyrics of Casey Dienel during the afternoon and then followed the sun back across the pond to the Beatles and the many interpretations of “Across the Universe” last night.
When I was younger, I wondered what the “letterbox” of the song lyric might be, imagining brightly colored alphabetical renderings in a box of their own on a shelf in the playroom. Likely, I would have stored the letterbox under my preferred, inelegant method of transportation at the time: yellow plastic Romper Stompers with neon green handles, for I was into walking on daffodils (and sunshine).
I later learned about letterboxing, which sounds like a pugilistic engagement between writers and words, but is, instead, the nineteenth-century game requiring seekers to locate a small box outside; once found, they record the find in their travel journal with the included stamp in the box and stamp their personal insignia in the box’s logbook. A precursor to modern geocaching, which celebrates technical precision and “treasure”, letterboxers today keep find counts, or PFX tallies, validated by graphical representations of the containers they have unearthed.
An admirer of book arts and the craft behind imprints of all sorts, I recently ordered letterpress notecards by B. Designs from the tasteful Charlottesville paper boutique Rock Paper Scissors.
The Rock Paper Scissors service was excellent, as usual, and I found it simple to send a dozen baby shower invitations in longhand to fellow members of the English graduate program and their significant others for my friends Sean and Carly Borton.
My roommate Ben and I decided on the seventeenth,
and in a “happy happenstance” (as the lyrics from a terrible old Disney film about an eccentric millionaire go), we were lucky enough to have the guest of honor join us this past Saturday,
as we welcomed him into what can only be a literary life with gifts and books to start his library.
As a good Irish lass, I couldn’t not have green on the table I set; as a modern one, however, my interpretation of appropriate St. Patrick’s Day food was quite liberal:
a chocolate-whiskey cake with fluthered cream from Chow, an online foodzine I like that also confirmed my experimental green champagne recipe (add lime juice and muddled mint leaves; stir),
purple potatoes with aïoli,
a pâté of goldcovered in roasted golden squash coins, surrounded by a rainbow of peppers with a green goddess sauce,
and lettuce wraps with shredded chicken and dressing, a sugar snap pea salad with goat cheese and pancetta, and tintern with chives in a lovely emerald rind from Feast.
With my friend Walker in attendance, soon to give birth herself, I needed an inspired mocktail base, and Feast came through again with sparkling blood orange juice.
Sara and Walker caught up, and Walker liked the juice so much she insisted on sipping it between gulps of water (and glowing, of course).
Bridget charmed little Benjamin,
and Carly began to open the books,
classics like Dr. Seuss, and other childhood favorites we all smiled to see unwrapped.
Sean and his mother looked on, and Benjamin Borton was as in demand as his happy parents and grandparent;
Justin nabbed him from Bridget for a little more practice before Walker delivers,
while Gwen graciously recorded the givers of each present.
Sean sat and perused what will become Benjamin’s bedtime reading,
as Jim and Rob discussed the issues of the day.
After most of our guests had left, Ben and I sat and talked with Sean,
spinning on the stools that nine months earlier had seen us laughing at a September party when the pregnancy was still a secret, and I was kicking myself for being a bad hostess and not securing Carly a drink—
Sean is a friend I cannot imagine surviving graduate school without, and we all know he will be a great father. When I asked what sort of registries I could direct guests toward, Sean replied,
“We have all the onesies we could ever possibly need. I envision my son wearing lots of shirts with pearly snap buttons, if that helps anyone.”
Sturdy plaids with pearly snap buttons sound like shirts suitable for letterboxing expeditions and other family adventures—welcome, welcome, little Benjamin Borton.
Sean’s parenting adventure has just begun, and in the cyclical trade of the seasons, this past Saturday was also an end; after everyone had left, I watched the last of Ze Frank’s “The Show” vlogs.
“It’s been an amazing year,” Ze said sincerely before the fade to black, and I thought about the places this year has led me.
When I began watching Ze Frank’s The Show last March, I was teaching a food writing class at the University of Virginia, prevailing upon the wary first years to begin blogging about food, prose, poetry, and theory.
In the summer, I convinced a seminar of advanced Media Studies students to make an earth sandwich for Ze that has now been viewed 1654 times in the Earth Sandwich gallery, proved my dedicated duckieness by finding the font for Fabuloso Fridays and uploading it to the show’s wiki, and referenced Ze’s UGC genius in a guest lecture this past fall,
buying a duckie to show support and remind potential majors of the importance of community engagement and social media, areas I now focus on as part of the Interactive department at PBS.
Last week, one of the big green Road Trip Nation RVs visited, and I went to meet the touring crew of this show new to the PBS family with my colleagues Jen and Alicia.
Inside the RV, the ceiling is covered with inspirational words from interviewees, the walls in stickers, map, and gifts of the road; the good energy seems even to spill out of the duct-taped cabinets in this set on wheels.
Alicia climbed into the driver’s seat,
and I was deemed worthy to wear the sunglasses.
We three squinted in the sunlight,
examined the promotional stickers we have since posted by our desks,
and watched looping clips of the RTN documentary with Mike Marriner, one of the show’s founders.
Like our kitchen at the party, Ze’s forums, my old antics in Romper Stompers, and the letterboxing expeditions to come, I climbed on the RV to “sounds of laughter,” knowing “shades of earth are ringing” and will still ring wherever the road takes me next spring.
For now, I am proud to be fighting the good fight. The kthread pubcasting begins…
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Posted by Kristen Taylor on Thursday, March 22nd, 2007, 10:09 am * Filed in Design, Entertaining, Food, Travel. * . Follow responses through the RSS 2.0 feed. Leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
March 22nd, 2007 at 10:25 am
That Jen girl sure does look like she likes shiny things.
March 30th, 2007 at 4:11 pm
Benjamin and I read “Eggs of Things” this morning. I hope he doesn’t want to raise tadpoles in our bathtub. But I hope he _does_ want to get a dog and name it Cowboy.
March 30th, 2007 at 4:18 pm
Sean, you have made my whole day. Benjamin is going to be so smart—
February 26th, 2009 at 10:37 pm
Thank you for using our Fairy Tiny Card, and thank you for supporting Rock Paper Scissors. They are a wonderful shop.
February 27th, 2009 at 7:34 am
James, thank you! Everyone commented on the cards, and I am so happy to support local businesses like Rock Paper Scissors. Most of my parties don’t call for invites, but when they do, I’ll seek your cards out again—