The Stone Diaries: Pulitzer Prize Winner By Carol Shields - 8

CHAPTER SIX

Work, 1955–1964

W. W. KLEINHARDT, SOLICITOR Ottawa, April 25, 1955

My dear Mrs. Flett, I am happy to say your late husband’s will is now filed, and all dispersals made. Matters have been settled fairly rapidly since the document was, as I explained to you on the telephone, remarkably clear in its intention and without any troublesome conditions attached. I believe you will find everything in order.

Please feel free to contact me should you have any questions.

Enclosed here along with our final report is a sealed envelope which your late husband instructed me, in writing, to pass on to you.

Yours truly, Wally (Kleinhardt)

Ottawa, April 6, 1955

My dear, Time is short. Dr. Shortcliffe says it will be a matter of days, doesn’t he? This is not, of course, what he tells me, but what I overheard him saying to you last night, whispering in the corridor, after I was moved to the General. My hearing has remained oddly acute.

My mind, while less acute, is at ease about financial resources for you and for the children. The house, of course, is secured—for I feel sure you would be reluctant to leave familiar surroundings, particularly your garden—and there are sufficient funds as you know for the children’s education.

But you will want money for travel—why is it we have not traveled, you and I?—and for small luxuries, and it has occurred to me that you might wish to offer for sale my lady’s-slipper collection. I am certain it will bring a good price. I suggest you contact Dr.

Leonard Lemay of Boston University whose address is in my pocket diary. I expect you will sigh as you read this suggestion, since I know well that Cypripedium is not a genus you admire, particularly the species reginae and acaule. You will remember how we quarreled—our only quarrel, as far as I can recall—over the repugnance you felt for the lady’s-slipper morphology, its long, gloomy (as you claimed) stem and pouch-shaped lip which you declared to be grotesque. I pointed out, not that I needed to, the lip’s functional cunning, that an insect might enter therein easily but escape only with difficulty. Well, so our discussions have run over these many years, my pedagogical voice pressing heavily on all that was light and fanciful. I sigh, myself, setting these words down, mourning the waste of words that passed between us, and the thought of what we might have addressed had we been more forthright—did you ever feel this, my love, our marginal discourse and what it must have displaced?

The memory of our “lady’s-slippers” discussion has, of course, led me into wondering whether you perhaps viewed our marriage in a similar way, as a trap from which there was no easy exit. Between us we have almost never mentioned the word love. I have sometimes wondered whether it was the disparity of our ages that made the word seem foolish, or else something stiff and shy in our natures that forbade its utterance. This I regret. I would like to think that our children will use the word extravagantly, and moreover that they will be open to its forces. (Alice does worry me though, the ferocity of her feelings.)

Do you remember that day last October when I experienced my first terrible headache? I found you in the kitchen wearing one of those new and dreadful plastic aprons. You put your arms around me at once and reached up to smooth my temples. I loved you terribly at that moment. The crackling of your apron against my body seemed like an operatic response to the longings which even then I felt. It was like something whispering at us to hurry, to stop wasting time, and I would like to have danced with you through the back door, out into the garden, down the street, over the line of the horizon. Oh, my dear. I thought we would have more time.

Your loving Barker Ottawa, May 20, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, I beg you to accept my sincere condolences regarding your sad loss. In the course of these last few years I have had the honor of becoming acquainted with your late husband, and very quickly I came to value his weekly contribution to the Recorder. You may be sure that the many readers of his column—and they are legion—will sorely miss their esteemed “Mr. Green Thumb.” His dignified tone contributed a rare sense of scholarship to these pages, and yet was never condescending.

In acknowledgment of your husband’s contribution, the staff here at the Recorder has assembled two specially bound copies of his articles, one to deposit with the National Archives, with your permission of course, and one which we would like to present to you and your family during the course of an informal memorial ceremony we are planning to hold at our offices here on Metcalfe Street.

Can you let me know if June 1, 4:30 p.m., is agreeable to you?

Yours in sympathy, Jay W. Dudley, Editor P.S. Mr. Flett’s demise seems particularly poignant at this time of the year when the city is ablaze with tulips. His articles on the annual Tulip Festival were among his most lyrical.

Climax, Saskatchewan, May 24, 1955

Dear Auntie, We sure were upset to get your letter about Uncle Barker passing away. Mom and Dad and the girls send their deep felt sympathy and say to tell you they will remember all of you and him too in their prayers. But as Mom says, it can’t be too great a shock for you, what with him being so much older in years. I’ve been thinking lately that it won’t be easy for you with three kids only half grown and that big house to look after, a regular mansion if I remember right, but then I was only there the once. It seems like a dream, in fact, looking back. So in the next little while if you happen to find you need a hand in the house, maybe you could drop me a line. I’m looking at moving East now that my husband and I have called it quits. Drink was the main problem there. And general laziness. Someone with my kind of pep gets driven straight up the wall by another person just laying around. I’d be willing to work for my room and board and forty dollars a month. I’m a pretty fair housekeeper, if I do say so myself, and just crazy about baking cakes, pies, buns, what have you. Also laundry, ironing, etc. Also, I can type, as you can see, thirty-five words a minute, it was through a correspondence course, otherwise I might of got up to sixty.

With love from your niece, Beverly P.S. Mom doesn’t know I’m writing in regards to this matter, so if you write back, send to Box 422, that way it doesn’t go to their place.

Bloomington, Indiana, May 29, 1955

Dearest Daze, I wish to hell I could pour some good liquid cheer into this envelope. I know how down-and-out rotten you must be feeling these days. Well, no, I don’t exactly know—how could I?—but I can imagine what a misery it is to find yourself alone after all the time you and Barker have been together. What has it been?—I make it twenty years. Lordy, it does go by, time that is, the filthy robber.

And Alice off to college next fall! And all this so soon after your dad dying.

Anyway I’m not going to go on and on about “remembering you in my prayers” (ha!) and “time’s healing balm” and all that razzmatazz—you’ll get plenty of that from dear old Beans—who grows more pious and platitudinous each day. When Ma died she sprayed me with enough perfumed clichés to clog up my sinuses for a month. This note is just to remind you, old pal, that you’ve got lots of years left. Personally, I’m finding that being fifty isn’t half as bad as it’s cracked up to be—the old visage may be a bit pouchy and cross-hatched, but “everything that matters” is still in good working order, and no damn getting the curse either. So don’t climb into your widow’s weeds and wither away just yet, kiddo! What do you say we treat ourselves to a week in Chicago this winter. We could see a few shows, stay at the Palmer House, and eat like pigs. January would suit me—the gallery here is planning to close the last week of the month, and we’re “encouraged” to clear off. Lordy, remember the terrific time we had in New York three years ago, or was it four?—that hilarious waiter and his bouncing baby lobster!—I wonder, did you ever report all that to Barker, item for item? Yes or no?

Never mind replying—I can guess.

So let’s hit Chi-town and put a little life into our life, what say?

Surely there’s someone who could keep an eye on Warren and Joanie for a few days. Give it some thought.

Love, Fraidy Ottawa, May 29, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, We are delighted you will be able to attend our little tribute to your late husband. I should add that we would be very pleased to have your children in attendance as well.

And I thank you very much for your suggestion about the coverage of the Tulip Festival. We would indeed be honored to have a few words from you; about five hundred words would be ideal. I wish I had had the wit to suggest it myself since rumor has it you are a famous gardener in your own right.

With sincere good wishes, Jay W. Dudley, Editor Bloomington, Indiana, June 1, 1955

My dear old friend, Our hearts ache continually for you these days. Your burden has been unutterably heavy, losing your father in April, bless his soul, and now your dearly beloved mate. I feel sure that the many happy memories of your life together will sustain you in the dark days ahead, as will the presence of your loved ones and the prayers of your dear friends. Time does heal, that is what you must keep in mind, though of course we never really forget those who have played such a large part in our lives. Dick joins me in these few rushed words of sympathy. (After much pressure, he has accepted the transfer to the head office in Cleveland, and now we must face the sadness of putting our dear old house up for sale—unfortunately the market is not booming. It seems limestone has become a lemon.)

Lovingly, “Beans”

Ottawa, June 5, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, Just a note to express my thanks for the gracious remarks you contributed to our little ceremony yesterday. I believe I can say that we were all touched by your comments, particularly those concerning your late husband’s regard for the Recorder and all that it stands for in our community.

And speaking personally, it was a very great pleasure to meet you and your three charming children, and please don’t think for a minute I was offended by what your daughter, Alice, said about my necktie. I know how teenagers sometimes blurt out their thoughts and later regret it. I look forward eagerly to your article on the Tulip Festival. Five hundred words would do nicely, as I believe I mentioned, but please feel free to expand or contract, should you feel the need. We have a great many eager gardeners out there who will welcome your thoughts.

Sincerely, J.W.D., Editor Ottawa, June 9, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, Just a note to let you know your maiden flight, as you term it, will be landing next Saturday in the Sports and Home section. We found the piece you mailed in to be solid in the best journalistic sense, yet full of felicities, my favorite being your description of thinly planted tulips looking like “ninnies marching off to a picnic.” Quite so.

If you are in agreement, we thought we might use “Mrs. Green Thumb” as a byline. I am a little uneasy about this suggestion, wondering if it might seem insensitive, certainly not my intention, so do please let me know if you have any reservations.

Sincerely, Jay Dudley Ottawa, June 15, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, I congratulate you on your coverage of our fair city’s annual Tulip Festival which I found fair, comprehensive, and flattering. Why flattering? Because you singled out, as being especially praiseworthy, one particular front yard on Fenton Avenue where you claim to have spotted a stand of “gorgeous Rembrandts backed by a gray-stained fence” (fourth paragraph). Since reading this, my good wife and I have persuaded ourselves that this must be a reference to our very own Rembrandts, and to our very own recently stained fence which has caught your attention and achieved the immortality of print.

Would you by any chance have an opinion on the use of fungicides to sterilize soil after an eruption of fire-blight?

With thanks, Alvin A. MacIntosh Ottawa, June 18, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Happy to see the Tulip Festival through female eyes for a change.

Liked what you said about bybloems. More people should speak out on said topic. Hope you’ll continue with the Recorder column.

Frankly, I often found the ex-gardens writer, Mr. Green Thumb, uncommitted on the subject of broken varieties. A bit nambypamby on fertilizers too.

Yours, Doris Griswold P.S. I’m with you one hundred percent on the question of pastels mixed with pures.

Climax, Saskatchewan, June 25, 1955

Dear Auntie, I’ve been keeping my fingers crossed for a letter from you, but the days go by and no luck so far. I guess, truth to tell, I’m getting sort of nervous, and the reason is, I might as well tell you straight out, I’m in the family way, only nobody around here knows about it, especially my folks who would go up in smoke if they got wind of it.

It’s a long story, how it happened, I mean, but now I’m starting to show and I’ve got to do something real soon before everyone starts putting two and two together. What I want to do is get way far away from here and make a fresh start. Then when the time comes I’ll put the baby up for adoption and get a job using my typing skills. I just know everything will work out in the end, but the problem is I don’t know how to get things started, if you know what I mean. It’s like there’s this great big wheel I’ve got to start rolling only I don’t seem to have the muscles to get it going. That’s why I was hoping you could maybe help me out for a few months. I mentioned room and board and forty dollars a month when I wrote, but really room and board is all I need. In fact I’d be grateful for that.

With love, Your niece Beverly Ottawa, June 29, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, As you can see from the enclosed letters, your Tulip Festival article was a great success. Everyone, including myself, seemed to respond to your plea for bolder arrangements and to your closing-off remark: “Beauty takes courage. Courage itself takes courage.” Well said!

We do hope—I speak for the whole staff—that you’ll do a repeat performance. In fact, could you possibly see your way to doing a monthly, or even a weekly, column for us? I realize this request comes very soon after your late husband’s demise, and that you may not feel up to making a firm commitment at this time. But, speaking from experience (my wife died only three years ago), I believe occupation to be the most effective means of dealing with bereavement.

I am returning the cheque, which you charmingly returned to me. But, of course, we insist on payment for all our writers. I only wish it were more bountiful.

Yours sincerely, Jay Climax, Saskatchewan, July 7, 1955

Dear Auntie, This is written in haste. I can’t wait to see you and the kiddies, and I can’t thank you enough for sending the train ticket.

Loads of love. I’ve got this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach of my life starting all over again. So long till next Wednesday.

Beverly Boston University, July 12, 1955

My dear Mrs. Flett, I do appreciate your writing about the availability of your husband’s fine Cypripedium collection which I have seen and admired, but I am afraid the collection is not complete enough for us to consider for purchase, nor is it at a standard of preservation we can accept for our museum, particularly the older specimens, montanum, for instance, also calceolus.

With best wishes and sincere condolences, Leonard Lemay, Chairman of Botany Ottawa, August 17, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, I’ve done like you said in last week’s paper, cultivating around my hybrid teas and hybrid perpetuals, and also I’ve followed your advice with the bonemeal. So far so good. Now I’m wondering how you feel about staking perennial asters this early in the year.

Yours truly, S. J. Provost Ottawa, August 18, 1955

Dear Mrs. F., Many thanks for sending in another wonderful column—and professionally typed too! You do have a way with a phrase: “The succulence and snap of an apple leaf.” Very nice indeed.

Hope you’re surviving our heat wave.

Best, Jay Perth, Ontario, September 12, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Here’s a useful tip for your readers. If you cut back your golden glow you’ll get a second bloom. Actually I try to get around to this in August. Thanks for the instructions about Madonna lilies. I’ve committed mine to the earth, blessed them solemnly with a sprinkle of fertilizer, and am hoping for the best.

Cheers, Mrs. Donald Fourtier Smith College, Northampton, Mass., September 15, 1955

Dear All, Whew, well, I got through registration at last, and now I feel I can get through anything. Got admitted to the Russian Lit program after all. The prof—everyone calls him Zeus—said he couldn’t believe I’d managed to get to this level with just two years of high-school Russian.

Yes, it’s true, everyone here wears Bermuda shorts all the time, classes and everywhere. I could use a couple more pairs if Beverly’s looking around for something to sew. (Hi, Beverly, hope you’re feeling okay.) I was thinking a nice brown tweed (sort of tobacco shade) would go great with that lambswool sweater of mine, and maybe something in a subdued blue and white check, not too large checks though.

I suppose “Mrs. Green Thumb” is getting more famous every day. Which is really neat. Really, I mean it. I honestly didn’t mean what I said about replacing Dad and forgetting his memory and all that. I was just in a lousy mood all summer hanging around the house and the heat and worrying about going away and stuff. I really honestly think this column thing could be sort of fulfilling, if you know what I mean, since you’ve never really done anything before, not counting the usual Betty Crocker stuff. Maybe you’ve truly got some latent ability, in the writing line I mean.

Gotta run before the library closes. I really truly feel I’m reaching the real Chekhov now. In his own language, I mean, cuz all of a sudden he’s got TEXTURE and DEPTH that doesn’t begin to show up in those stupid little translations people put up with.

Love, Alice Ottawa, October 5, 1955

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Boy, did I get a kick out of last week’s column on garden pests, including “small neighborhood boys that attack the apple trees.”

Thanks, too, for all the helpful hints of what to do with crabapples. I liked your last suggestion best—just throw ’em away. Great idea.

Betty Singer (A Real Fan)

Bloomington, Indiana, October 6, 1955

Dear Mrs. Flett, We hope it won’t be too much longer before your late father’s affairs are satisfactorily settled, but, as you know, his investment portfolio was more complicated than most. I have tried for several days to reach his widow by telephone, but have received no answer.

Her instructions have been followed regarding the division of the property, with full protection afforded your father’s pyramid as a “permanent memorial” to his life. We are anxious to procure her signature on a number of documents relating to the will. Do you happen to know if she is traveling at the moment, and, if so, when she will return to the Bloomington area?

Yours truly, Calvin K. Kopps (Bregnam & Kopps)

Bloomington, Indiana, November 1, 1955

Dear Daze, A quick note. No luck tracking down Maria. Georgio (my latest) and I drove out to Lake Lemon on Sunday and found the place locked up tight as a drum. The neighbors say they haven’t seen her around for a good month or so. Where do we go from here? Let me know.

I’m all set for Chicago, and I’ve reserved our room, very posh too, why the hell not?—have you got your train tickets yet?

Love, Fraidy Ottawa, November 4, 1955

Dear Mrs. F., Your proposed piece on the Chicago Horticultural Conservatory sounds perfect for January, also the Morton Arboretum. I haven’t visited that renowned city myself, but I understand it is extremely beautiful, despite its reputation for gangsters and graft. I would like you to know that if you should ever find you can’t manage a column (due to illness or other interruption) we can always get Pinky Fulham on the staff here to fill in for you. Although he usually covers civic events, he is a keen gardener and, incidentally, a great admirer of your columns.

Yours, J.

Northampton, Mass., November 8, 1955

Dear Mother, Let me say right off that you’ve completely lost your marbles about this baby business. I thought the whole idea was that Beverly was going to have it adopted and then start a new life. Here’s Warren nearly 16 and Joan 14, the last thing you need is a screaming infant around the house.

In no time at all they’ll be in college and you’ll be free to go tripping around with your old “gal” friends, which is what you’ve always wanted.

Frankly, I think Beverly is taking advantage of your good nature. I know she helps out, especially with you going off to Chicago, and she does do your typing and all, but just think what she’s getting in return. Free room and board and a pretty easy ride. And I don’t see why the baby has to be in my room. What happens when I come home at Christmas?

Where exactly am I supposed to sleep, if that’s not too impertinent a question? As for the name Victoria, since you asked my opinion, I think it’s pretentious. There’s a Victoria in my dorm and she’s a real snot.

Can you please send my red cardigan soon.

Love, Alice Ottawa, December 14

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, That was just a wonderful piece on Christmas plants, and I laughed till I cried about your struggle with your leggy poinsettia.

Here’s some advice you might want to pass on to your readers: keep the darn things away from gas, drafts, and radiators and they’ll thrive all winter. In fact you’ll get sick of having them around. Ha.

Also, give the soil a stir with a kitchen fork now and again.

Happy holidays, and thanks for your weekly words of wisdom, Hollis Sanderson Bloomington, Indiana, December 29, 1955

Daze—A quick note to say you’ll be getting a letter from Beans who’s decided she wants to come with us to Chicago. You have to believe me when I say I couldn’t think of any way to say no. She had me on the spot, but you’ll be hearing the whole story—I think I’d better leave it for her to tell.

Also want to assure you we got the key to the Lake Lemon house from the lawyer and checked it over thoroughly. There’s absolutely no indication of what might have happened to Maria, no notes, etc., though it looks like some of her clothes could be missing. (Empty hangers in the closet and so forth.) You already know about the money she withdrew—a cool twenty thousand, though she could have taken a helluva lot more, according to the lawyer. By the way, your dad’s old backyard pyramid looked kind of sweet under a layer of fresh snow. Georgio thought there might be squirrels nesting inside. How d’ya like that?—little squirrelly pharaohs.

The Christmas present was a hoot. I must be the only person in the state of Indiana, maybe in the whole Western Hemisphere, to have a reading lamp made out of a giraffe’s foot—where in God’s holy name did you find him (her?)? I think you’re back to being the Daze of old—though I hope you know what you’re doing, taking on a baby. Yikes.

See ya soon, Fraidy Bloomington, Indiana, January 10, 1956

Fraidy’s no doubt told you what happened, Dick’s little “lady friend” in Cleveland, anyway I won’t go into detail on a postcard.

Just gotta get away for a couple of weeks—from all these gee-dee memories. I’ve taken the house off the market—that’s one decision anyway. See you next Tues at Palmer House.

Love, Beans Ottawa, February 2, 1956

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Just wanted to let you know your column on Chicago gardens pushed my husband’s magic button. His nibs hates traveling like all get out, but after reading about the Morton Arboretum, he’s decided we’ve just got to go see for ourselves, so we’re driving down in April.

Glad you’re back. Pinky What’s-his-name doesn’t know “nuttin” about Harrison’s Yellow versus Persian Yellow.

Yours sincerely, A Faithful Reader Northampton, Mass., April 6, 1956

Dear All, Sorry I haven’t written lately but I’ve been going through a lousy time with Russian lit, also with the professor (a drip) and my roommate, Shirley, who’s depressed about her boyfriend, another drip. Also it’s been raining a lot. I’m thinking about changing my major, maybe Spanish. Or sociology. Or education. Everything I think of seems irrelevant.

Love, Alice Northampton, Mass., April 20, 1956

Dear Mother, Just to let you know I’m feeling a whole lot better and I really did appreciate you coming, especially when I know you’ve never flown in an airplane before and are scared to death of crashing. I think you’re right, that I was feeling down because of Dad, the thing about it being just one year after he died, one year exactly. I had a long talk about it with my Russian prof who said he really truly understood how I feel and that these one-year anniversary things can hit you hard emotionally and it was okay if my term paper was late.

I’ve decided to stay with my Russian major. We’re into Gogol.

What a soul that man has, Russia’s great soul incarnate.

Give my love to Warren and Joan and Bev and especially Victoria and tell them I’ll be writing soon.

Alice P.S. Forgot to comment on your new hairstyle which is just the mostest. Makes your neck look thinner too. Have you ever thought of tinting over the gray?

Ottawa, September 3, 1956

Dear Mrs. F., We wondered if you would care to join the Recorder staffers for our annual dinner at the Press Club, September 20th at seven o’clock. Pinky Fulham always plans a superb menu and a wonderful evening of songs and skits. Perhaps, if you would like to join us, I could call for you and drive you there. Do please let me know.

J.

Ottawa, November 14, 1956

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, At last, someone’s solved my black leg problem. Any advice on thrips?

A Faithful Reader Northampton, Mass., November 20, 1956

Hi all. Up to my eyebrows in mid-terms. Just wanted to say happy first birthday to Victoria. Can’t wait to see her again.

Alice Bloomington, Indiana, December 20, 1956

Hope this reaches you by Christmas. Happy holiday cheer to all.

Beans and I are thinking of New Orleans for February. How ’bout it?

It’s all over with Georgio. I got tired of holding in my stomach all the time and pretending I was his girly-girl.

Peace, joy, etc.

Fraidy Ottawa, January 15, 1957

Dear D., The Recorder staff loved your piece on how to graft cacti—the perfect topic for winter gardeners. Pinky Fulham’s done a few drawings (which I’ve enclosed for your approval) since he thought it might help readers follow the more difficult steps. He’s a cactus man from way back, he tells me. Also very good on trees.

Affectionately, J.

Ottawa, February 7, 1957

Dear Mrs. Flett, Thanks for your kind words about the cactus illustrations. I think, not to pat myself on the back too much, that our readers really went for them, it kind of jazzes up the page. And as for covering the column while you’re in New Orleans, it would be a pleasure. I’m always glad to pitch in. A person can get pretty sick of writing about local elections and school board hassles.

Sincerely, Pinky Fulham Ottawa, June 30, 1957

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Loved “Getting Tough With Phlox.” I’ve clipped it out for my files, and bought an extra copy for my sister-in-law in Calgary who’ll get a real kick out of it.

Sincerely, Rose Henning, a timid-but-determined-gardenerin-training Hanover, College, September 19, 1957

It’s so noisy in the dorm I can’t think, but wanted to let you know I’m settled in and surviving. Great weather down here. Great news about Beverly doing the commerce course, she’ll do great.

Love to all, especially Vicky.

Warren P.S. You said postcards were okay.

Ottawawawa, December 2, 1958

O dear mrs green, my dear mrs thumb how i love you love you for your goodness your greenness your thumb-readiness your watering can your fertilizer pellets and o how i love rustling these limp pages and finding you there always there between stamps and bridge between recipes and religion there forever there with your greenness your kindness and o last week with your dampened cloth wiping clean the green green leaves shining and polishing o so gently and opening the green pores to the air it was like washing the hands of a little child you said dear mrs greenthumb o if i could only be your child scrubbed clean and pure to light and goodness i too would be happy i too would need nothing and o how i love you need you sweet keen clean mrs green thumb Anon Bloomington, Indiana, January 15, 1958

Daze—you’re going to kill me, but I can’t make Florida in Feb.

Guess why—I’m getting married. Yep, married! Hope you’re still standing up and breathing. Beans says I’ve misplaced my brains, but I think you’ll like Mel. He’s a lab instructor, divorced, nice hair, sings baritone in a barber shop quartet, that says it all. So instead of soaking up the sun in Florida, why don’t you get yourself down here to Indiana for the wedding. It’s gonna be a five-minute quickie in court, no fancy dress, but the biggest party you ever saw afterwards.

Buckets of champagne. Oceans.

Love, Fraidy

Bloomington, Indiana, January 17, 1958

Just a scribble. You’ve just gotta come for THE WEDDING, and then we two old maids (toi et moi) can head down south for a week in Florida. (Fraidy says you’ve got over your fear of airplanes.) I need some gee-dee sunshine. Hope Mel works out for Fraidy, he’s sweet but has already had TWO divorces!!!

Beans Ottawa, March 4, 1958

Dear D., Wonderful piece on palms, “The Mystery Tree,” and we’ve had a great response to Pinky’s drawings too.

Wondered if you would care to see a performance of Tea and Sympathy. I’ve been given two tickets for March 15th.

J.

Ottawa, June 2, 1958

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Your tribute to geraniums touched the middle of my heart. These sturdy, stout-hearted darlings have kept me company for the fifty years of my married life, sitting on the window sill and cheering me on while I peeled the supper spuds. My hubby was one of those who could not conceive of supper without potatoes on the plate. Well, now I’m in what they call a retirement home, Sunset Manor if you can believe it, so no more paring knife duty, but I still have my window sill full of bright little beauties. Like you, I like to rub the dead flowers between my fingers and smell the fragrance, only I never told anyone I did such a thing, it sounded so crazy.

Sincerely, Mrs. Alice W. Keefer

Ottawa, April 27, 1959

Dear Dee, Thank you so much for inviting me to Easter dinner. What a handsome family you’re blessed with: Alice with that cloud of red hair, shy Warren, sweet Joan, and your niece Beverly and little Victoria. I had almost forgotten the pleasure of sitting down with a real family for a holiday meal—and a splendid meal it was! And please don’t think I was embarrassed about Alice demanding to “look me over.”

Yours, J.

P.S. Hope next Tuesday is still all right.

Bloomington, Indiana, November 14, 1959

Daze—Your lawyer phoned the other day about the Lake Lemon property.

He’s got a buyer interested at last, but only if they bulldoze the pyramid and re-fill the area. Can you let me know how you feel about this. Should we go ahead? Apparently they don’t need Maria’s signature for the sale.

If she ever surfaces, they can work out some sort of compensation.

Love, Fraidy (Mel says hello)

Bloomington, Indiana, December 13, 1959

Daze, Merry Christmas from Mel and me. I passed on your comments to the real estate people, and, no, I don’t think you’re crazy. Why rush into a sale if you don’t need the money, though I probably should warn you that the pyramid seems to have attracted vandals, either that or frost damage. All best wishes in the next decade. Who ever thought I’d become “the little married woman” and you’d be the “career gal.” Anyway, it suits you. Beans and I are in agreement on that, if nothing else—you’ve found your metier!

Love ya, Fraidy

Ottawa, April 3, 1960

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Wow, you really told it like it is in “Plant Food—Yes or No.” My wife and I’ve been bickering over this particular issue for years. So, in gratitude I’m sending you my recipe (attached) for getting the algae off your lily pond (if you have one), and keeping it off! Tell your readers they can buy copper sulphate at any nursery or hardware store.

So long and thanks, Roman Matrewski Ottawa, August 12, 1960

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Really enjoyed your dramatic struggle with the ant colony. Also your words of enlightenment on the European leaf beetle. You’ve got a real gift for making a story out of things.

Gratefully yours, Fed-Up-With-Weeds-And-Bugs-in-South-Ottawa Bloomington, Indiana, November 4, 1960

Hi, Just got Alice’s wedding invitation. I’ll be there with bells on.

I’m taking you at your word about bringing “a guest.” We’re going to fly instead of taking the train. He’s loaded.

Beans Ottawa, December 15, 1960

Dear Dee, Just talked to Pinky who said he’d be glad to take over the column until your daughter’s wedding is over. I understand these affairs can take a lot of organizing. Pinky’s got some interesting material on ferns which seem to be making a comeback. Let me know if there’s any way I can help out.

Yours, J.

Ottawa, January 22, 1961

My dear Dee, Forgive me, but I must put this in writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

J.

Hampstead, England, April 20, 1961

Dear Mother, We’re so happy in this little house. I never dreamed I could be this happy. Even the address sounds like a poem: 1, Brewery Lane.

How about that! I think I’ve been a little crazy all my life and now suddenly I’m not any more. I’m going to stay here forever and have babies and write about Chekhov and keep snug and sane. Thanks for wonderful snaps of Victoria. It makes my heart swell, just thinking of her. Glad to hear you and Beans and Fraidy have decided on Bermuda this year. Ben sends his love along with mine.

Alice Bloomington, Indiana, May 25, 1962

Daze, So glad we could make it for the christening. Alice looked gorgeous—my, she’s mellowed—and Ben Junior is beautiful. (I suppose they’re already back in Hampstead.) And it was nice meeting Jay at last. Yes, you were right, he does have a nice rich, worldly laugh.

Also there’s something endearing about a man who knows all the words to “Ivan Skavinsky Skavar.” I couldn’t help being pleased he and Mel had so much in common. Isn’t it bizarre, all of us having beaux at our age, though I guess Mel doesn’t quite qualify as a beau now that he’s a husband. By the way, Beans and Brick are talking wedding bells. Wish I could warm to him, but can’t somehow. What do you think? It isn’t just his name and those godawful neckties is it? Maybe it’s the way he sneers at the Kennedys. Maybe it’s that Sigma Chi ring. Maybe it’s everything.

Love, Fraidy

Ottawa, June 6, 1963

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb I agree absolutely that peonies are beautiful but stupid. The dumbest thing about them is the way they resent being moved—which is why my husband and I welcomed your suggestions last week. Many thanks. You’re the greatest.

Audrey LaRoche (Mrs.)

Ottawa, August 15, 1963

Dear Mrs. Green Thumb, Your piece on hollyhocks was terrif. I liked the part about their “frilled dirndl skirts,” and their “shy fuzzy stems.” I haven’t had hollyhocks in the yard for years, but after reading your column I ran straight out and bought a bunch of seeds, even though it’s too late for this year.

Thanks a bunch, Lydia Nygaard Ottawa, November 25, 1963

Dearest Dee, Couldn’t reach you by phone, hence this quick note. Most of the Sports and Home section will be cancelled next week because of the Kennedy coverage—so we’ll be using your rock garden piece the following week. What a world this is, everything falling to pieces.

Yours, J.

Ottawa, January 25, 1964

Dear Dee, I’m so sorry about this misunderstanding. I realize now, of course, that telling you on the phone was a mistake. I knew you’d be disappointed, but I had no idea you would take it this hard. You’ve been talking about wanting more time to yourself, more time to travel, maybe a trip to England to see your daughter. Hope we can get together as usual on Tuesday and talk this over like two sensible people.

Yours, J.

Ottawa, February 6, 1964

Dear Mrs. Flett, I’ve read your letter carefully and I can assure you I understand your feelings. But I believe Jay explained the paper’s policy to you, that full-time staffers have first choice of columns. As you well know, I’ve been filling in with the gardening column from time to time, all those times you’ve been away, and, to tell you the honest truth, I’ve had quite a lot of appreciative letters from readers who especially like the fact that my columns are illustrated and take the male point of view. Personally, I like the feel that a regional newspaper is a living, breathing organism that resists falling into rigid patterns. Think of it this way: our readers are always changing, and so must we. After nine years of being Mrs. Green Thumb, I feel sure you too will welcome a change.

With best wishes, James (Pinky) Fulham February 20, 1964

Dear Dee, I am so terribly sorry about all this, and I do agree the policy of the paper is ridiculous, but it’s a policy that has been in force since the time of my predecessor. None of this has anything to do with your competence as a contributor, you know better than that. The issue is that Pinky, as a full-timer, has a prior claim to any regular column as long as he can demonstrate capability in the area. I can’t tell you how much I regret all this, but I’m afraid my hands are tied.

Please let’s get together soon and talk of other things. You are, if I may say, taking this far too personally.

Your J.

February 28, 1964

Dear Mrs. Flett, Thank you for your letter. I am afraid, though, I am not at this time willing to change my mind. Frankly, I’ve been covering city politics for some ten years and am in need of a change. Even my personal physician has advised a change. I should think you would be eager for a change too after so many years. Change is what keeps us young.

Yours sincerely, Pinky Fulham P.S. As I said to you earlier, I hope this disagreement won’t interfere with our friendship.

Bloomington, Indiana, March 28, 1964

Daze, Beans and I are just wondering if you’ve broken your wrist. Neither of us has heard from you in ages—how about a line or two?

Fraidy Hampstead, England, April 10, 1964

It’s weeks since you’ve written. Hope all is well. Spring has come to England, glorious, and Judy’s already up to twelve pounds. Is everything okay? I’m a little worried. There hasn’t been a letter from you for weeks. Is anything wrong?

Love, Alice, Ben, and Benje and wee Jude