4/24/13

Dear Temple,

I hope this note finds you well and happy. It's still a bit cold here today. The sun came out in the afternoon and I got to spend a bit of time outside. Your Aunt Crystal's car was repaired. We picked it up about an hour ago. One of the running lights was working erratically and I couldn't fix it dependably. We brought it to the local auto shop and they had just as many problems as I did. Fixing a newer VW Beetle is a pain. This is funny since the old Beetles were models of simplicity. At least I feel a bit vindicated as the auto mechanics had just as much hassle as I did. Maybe I should start a social group. I'm thinking of calling us the "Brotherhood Inclusive Of Men Embattled Since Partaking -in- Heroically Engineering Running Eyeball" or BIOME-SPHERE!
Maybe not.

I didn't have a car of my own so I was home today. I did homeschooling with Elijah, cleaned a bit and worked on some projects. I need to get back into editing my books, but I am feeling a bit fussy about doing that. You see, when I edit or write I need everything just perfect. I need a pipe and good tobacco, coffee, a comfortable working environment and time. If time is pressing then I can't create.

I also need my friend Jeffrey's basement chair. I can write without it, and have, but it's never as good. It's the perfect chair. It's large and very comfortable. It's not really a chair someone would have in their living room - which is too bad. Sometimes style takes away our most comfortable possessions, or at least regulates them to the basement. It looks kind of like this

It's not a thing of beauty, but it works for me. Jeffrey likes it too, but he's a good host and gives into my seating whims. *I just deleted a couple paragraphs about chairs. I re-read the letter and decided that you really don't care about any of this (but I know you would be too polite to tell me to shut up.)

If I'm wrong and you really do care, let me know and I'll regale you with hours of conversation about chairs I feel comfortable in.  

I love you much and miss you always,

Uncle Justin