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Dear Dale,

Hey there brother bear! Wow what a day! I spent 12 hours at work. Yikes! But what a great time it was! Holy smokes! It was the Wynwidyn Press Grand Open House. So I was there a little early and stayed a lot late. But it was so worth it. I will send you pictures of my office. I was mostly keeping my Boss, Robin, from having a nervous break-down for most of the day. Mostly random errands like if she said “go write this down” I wrote it. Sometimes it’s a word, a message, an idea, a press release or an e-mail to an author. A random, mini-post-it note convention is gathering and  mingling up the side of my Grand desk.

There was a cool cake, and lots of extra’s. We had a ribbon cutting. We had a champagne toast. I’ll send pics soon and a copy of the flyer.

Right now though, I think I will need to sleep ASAP. ZZZZZ….

Gracious! It’s Sunday afternoon and I wrote the above on Thursday evening. Get this- I went to work at the office early Friday morning. My Boss was already there. I plugged in my laptop and by the time I got my first cup of coffee for the day it was all warmed up. So I sign into my g-mail and the first thing that popped out was a comment in my word press account. It was a response to something obnoxious I wrote about some other “snotty authors who I have heard more eloquent criticism from a high school cheerleader squad.” then posted it by accident.  And they went off on me about how I unprofessional I was (and I admit, I was busted there)  and wah-wah-wah. I was devastated, then pissed, then humiliated because I embarrassed my Boss Robin who I really care about, then so depressed again. I was never going to post on Facebook ever again. I was never going to blog ever again. I was never going to write ever again. My book was too offensive for Wynwidyn Press and would never get published there. I would never jot another poem ever ever ever ever.

Ever again. Just never. Ambrose put a swift kibosh  to that lunacy. “Mom, that’s like a dis-service to the entire world, and it’s not the entire world’s fault that this one person has a negative opinion.” He basically forbid me to refrain from writing. And he’s right. I’d crumble into a ball with twitchy hands.

Did you know that before there were authors and it became easier and more openly taught the craft of penmanship that everything that happened had to be memorized exactly? People were held to high standards of memory and memorization.

What does that have to do with the point? What I mean is- I’ve also always had a knack for memorization. I can still remember the social security number of my best friend when I was 17. I remember phone number from when I was a small child. My long term memory is impeccable. Short-term… let’s not go there. My long-term memory is awesome. I was built to be what I am. I am a cookie cut-out by my DNA. What I am is a scribe.

Every article, essay, letter, creative non-fiction, journal entry I’ve ever made was meant to be a document of our history.

Even when I was a little girl, 7 or 8, I imagined that these journals I kept would be picked up and collected by someone somewhere down the road in 500 years or so.

I am the witness. We are all eternal now because I wrote us here. Someone will have to know that people lived here and we were real and we lived and loved an went to prison and hoped and dreamed and rolled in the grass and drank whiskey and feared our government and I was patiently waiting. I wrote it all down.

“They can’t print it if it isn’t true?” Isn’t that right?

I wrote a blog the next morning apologizing profusely to the world for my grandiose sense of expression.

Your niece is impatient for us to go to the mailbox and then for our daily walk to the store. I will print and mail this letter to you now my dearest brother-by-another-mother.

Remember that you are not like the uneducated, damaged, tombs you live amongst. You are a soul and a spirit and you yearn to be free. Freedom is natural to you, not cages. You are not like them. Mouth shut, head up, never soft, no excuses. I love you Brother Bear.

~Love forever,

Your Baby Sister Bear