This blog has become one of missing people. Fortunately, having people to miss is telling of a wonderful life. I mean, it's the entire premise of the well known holiday movie by the same name, starring Jimmy Stewart (unintentionally appropriate and festive for the season).
Anyway. I'm up to my ears in letters that I've been meaning to respond to (I used to be so much better at that), but decided to blog it out, instead.
So. Dear sweet Matthew David Doane:
Tonight, I saw the pretty little Art Deco book you gave me for my birthday last year. It made me wish I could tell you all of this to your face. But I can't. So here is a memoir, a montage, if you will, of our friendship.
Remember how I used to sneak you into Miss Frederick's class, and we would sit in the practice rooms, making up dumb songs about people we hated? And remember those stories you used to tell me about working at Paradise with illegal immigrants, and how they would give you instructions in Spanish, and judge you when you did something wrong? While I'm thinking about it, thanks for supporting my David Price obsession, even though he was first chair violin, and you were second chair Viola (Chamber rivalry at its finest). Thanks for an entire summer of discount Yogurtstop, and going to see Eclipse with me when you'd already taken your sister. Tonight, I really missed you, Matt Doane.
Love you long time.
I'm still sorry about that time I ditched you, mid-semester in A.P. Gov. I just couldn't handle anymore debates.