A Letter to Foscoe Sage

 

August 28, 2024

 

Dear Foscoe,

My letters are not always worthy of the price of postage, but they make me feel as though I am getting to once again talk with you.  I can’t help but picture you still living in California.  You were there for so many years and that is where we met.  We were factory workers back then, you operating some machine, and me down the aisle working on another.  I don’t even remember what we were making.  I do remember that even back then we both enjoyed writing.  Our friendship is sort of an odd thing to grow out of metal shavings and machine oil, but there we grew.

Off on our own adventures, our lives taking various paths, and unexpected turns, and every once in a while we’d connect, either by letters, phone calls or emails.  Yes, long ago, you would send me emails.  I still have them all.  Now, of course, you’re living in a place that experiences all the seasons.  You have taught your son to build snowmen, while I have slid down Mount Kilimanjaro on a borrowed toboggan, only to be arrested at the bottom.  There weren't any signs saying not to.  

We have both experienced health-related adventures that we could have done without.  I expect those were just more left turns along our paths.  I fully understand you most likely will never send a letter in return, but I hang on to the possibility.

  It’s the same with my blog.  I try to add to it every day, knowing that nobody will write back.  It is the smallest of hopes that someone I have never met, and may never meet, one day sends a message back, even if it is just as non-sensical as the stuff I write.  Who knows?

OK, so I’m hanging up now.  I have rambled on long enough.  I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits.  Say, “Hi” to the fam for me and I will go and plop this into the mailbox.

 

Your Old Pal

Zobostic Corwin

 

 

 Mr. Foscoe Sage