In early February, ten church friends and I enjoyed a matinee production of Love Letters at the Alhambra Dinner Theatre in Jacksonville.
Before the show, my new friends (not to be confused with my special Southern Lady friends) and I feasted on one of the two: prime rib or buttered shrimp. No one at our table chose the vegetarian offering: stuffed sweet potato with asiago cheese. For dessert, the choices were carrot cake or warm pear cobbler. I opted for the prime rib and cobbler with a broccoli cheddar soup appetizer.
Show du Jour
A childhood friendship that begins with birthday thank-you notes and summer camp postcards blossom into the love story of Andy and Melissa. For the next 50 years, they continue to exchange letters and pour their hearts out to one another through personal triumphs and despair, wars and marriages, children and careers. This story, nominated for a Pulitzer prize, is a tender examination of the shared nostalgia and deep relationship of a life-long friendship.
Interestingly, the actors in the dialogue behind desks on stage are real-life husband and wife.
A few weeks ago, Cliff and I scoured the house for our own love letters, some of which got damaged in a garage flood long ago.
In the process of looking, we found a photo of a few of our old letters . . .
Where had we put these letters since the move three years ago, we wondered . . .
Then, Mister Cliff found them in his van! Why were they there? How did they land in this odd place?
* * *
Do understand, we haven’t read these letters for decades. Once on my blog, I did write about our love letters in a post about my husband writing a love letter to my Grandma Longenecker.
Soon we’ll put some of our love letters in the car and read them again, out loud, when we get to our destination, a brief getaway out-of-town.
Will the contents be
I’ll let you know the results next week when I post about an 80-year-old novelist from Valdosta, Georgia, who has just published a steamy saga, which one reader has declared will “send her to hell”!