How To Write Letters: A Vintage Guide to the Lost Art of Epistolary Etiquette, 1876

by Maria Popova

“A letter should be regarded not merely as a medium for the communication of intelligence, but also as a work of art.”

As a lover of old letters, I have a special soft spot for the lost art of letter-writing — an art robbed of romance and even basic courtesy in the age of rapid-fire, efficiency-obsessed, typed-with-one-thumb-on-a-tiny-keyboard communication. So I was utterly delighted to discover a rare and remarkable little book titled How To Write Letters.

At once delightfully dated in many of its cultural assumptions — particularly the epistolary norms for the sexes — and charmingly urbane in its practical prescriptions, this tiny treasure tells us as much about the long-lost era of its origin as it does about the standards we’ve chosen, and chosen to leave behind, in our own. Above all, it reminds us that sentiment lives not only in what is being communicated but also in how it is being communicated — an osmosis all the more important today, when cold screens and electronic text have left the written word homogenized and devoid of expressive form.”

(For more of this article and information about the book, click here.)

topgear:

bbcamerica:

helterskelts:

So glad Top Gear is back :)

The BBC America premiere of Top Gear Season 19 was last night.

Yes. Yes it was.

Or shall I call it, ‘Fifty Shades of Banal” - I’d rather “Tremendous Tractors’ anyday.

Okay Kitty, (ghostofthewind), only for you:

One: I’m connected to the Dutch royal family due to a liason my ancestor, a gardener had with the then, Queen.  My surname was a ‘gift’ from that monarch.

Two: I love toadstools and the damp, loamy scent of a mixed forest.

Three: I’ve worked as a nanny, waitress, cook, barmaid, salesperson, manager, teacher, cleaner, massage therapist, dog walker to name some, and now as a writer.

Four: My home, where I began and where I will finish will be the Isle of Skye, Scotland.

Five:  I can be quite stubborn.

Six: My favourite song as a small child was ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”

Seven: I can be very organised but I’m not very tidy.

Eight: Like Benjamin Button, internally at least, I’m getting younger as I get older.

Nine: My first ‘boyfriend’ was German and wore lederhosen; we were five years old.

Ten: I love Dr. Seuss and his out of the box wit and Roald Dahl for his subversive brilliance.  

Now Mr. Meme (memeengine), how about you?

photogradee:

The view from the top of Beinn Chiochan, also known as Lochnagar - Scotland, Summer 2011. Taken after a long but wonderful hike. 

It’s a landscape sort of day. 

Probably one of my favourite landscape photos I’ve taken. 

What a magnificent photo!  Prince Charles once wrote a children’s book for his brothers, based here, which is near to Balmoral the royal family’s Scottish retreat.  It’s called, “The Old Man of Lochnagar,” and it’s full of secret places and magical people.  It’s also suggested that HRH may have been a believer.  For more information, click here.

I’m taking a break from my labours; I’ve been getting ready for book club in my home tomorrow evening.  The wine has been purchased, food is yet to be prepared and the cleaning is looming on the horizon.  It was just as well it was my turn, it gave me the necessary impetus to take down the Christmas tree.  Yes, shameful as it is to admit, it only came down tonight.  It wasn’t a tree anymore really, just a skeleton of it’s former Nordic glory.

We’ll be discussing ‘The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry,” as I’ve said in previous posts, a book I greatly enjoyed.  I know from speaking to some of our group that Mr. Fry was not loved by all, or rather, was slow to grow on some of them.  It’s funny how affecting any criticism of a beloved book can be.  Book club has taught me to thicken my skin and take all comments in good spirit.  I’ve also learned that wine and my opinion don’t always blend to produce tact.  Our November meeting had me state (about the “Juliet Stories”) that not only did I “hate the book, but it actually repelled me.”  Fortunately, Rachael who had chosen the book was not offended.

On the subject of books, I’m reading a luminous novel, “The Cat’s Table,” by Michael Odaatje just now.  His characters would seem to step off the pages and climb into your head, words spare and yet evocative, descriptive and like the best seduction - taking you on a journey that you desperately want to finish and yet, as soon as you do, you wish you hadn’t.  

Hello patient followers.  I have come through the lurgy (which was gruesome by the way) and am on the mend.  I hope you’re all doing well.  I understand the lurgy, or flu as it’s being called has reached epidemic proportions.  My simple cure included some rest, plenty of fluids and Olbas Oil - it’s briliant stuff.  

It’s been an awful start to the New Year but now I’m ready to embrace life again.  I intend to do some writing soon and hopefully, there will be something more creative than photos and re-blogs on this blog.  In the meantime, I’ve been reading.  I’ve just finished, “The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry,” by Rachel Joyce and I loved that.  It’s a subtle book and she’s a deft writer.  It charts the main character’s whim, which takes him on a cross country trek completely unprepared, alongside his internal voyage.  I’ve nearly finished “The Time Keeper,” by Mitch Albom and I’m also enjoying that.  It describes the beginning of time, not life but the charting of the passage of life through time.  We see Father Time trapped for centuries to endure the woes of people obsessed with measuring time.  It’s a heavy subject but Mitch Albom makes light work of it.

In the spirit of lightness, I’m being taken out for dinner tonight and I’m looking forward to it.  I spent several days hunting for a new frock and found just the thing yesterday.  For me there is nothing quite like finding a piece of clothing that really feels like it belongs to you.  For the curious, it’s long, mainly scarlet with a paisley pattern in purple, gold and black in satin.  I feel both happy and unstoppable when I flounce around in this ensemble.  Life is looking good.    

Feeling poorly.  Feeling very poorly and have been drinking numerous cups of mint tea, an indication of how low I am.  Have watched an Austen themed series whereby the main character steps from present day into the world of ‘Pride and Prejudice.”  She longs for such to be her reality.  Why?  These women that imagine that a time of better manners and slower pace, but do not consider the status of women; no vote, trading Father for Husband, no voice save a trivial one, and more limited diversions, do not know what they’re talking about.  Still, it was diverting.  Then on to a tale of a vicar who was a dog in a previous life…  I shall be having bizarre dreams tonight if I’m fortunate enough to sleep. With a running nose and a head that cannot belong to me, sleep may elude me.  Dose yourself with remedies and potions people and avoid this virus, it’s a nasty one.

Happy Boxing Day!  There is much to be said about this day, I suppose as a Stephanie, this day could have some significance.  Here is a little on the subject, click here for more: “Boxing Day is so called because it was the custom on that day for tradesmen to collect their Christmas boxes or gifts in return for good and reliable service throughout the year. Boxing Day is also St. Stephen’s Day. St Stephen was a little known saint who achieved eternal fame by being the first Christian to be martyred for his faith by being stoned to death shortly after Christ’s crucifixion.”  I was named after my Father, not a saint, not by anyone’s imagination.  

I have been enjoying a quiet day, looking at my gifts and catching my breath.  I received some wonderful books, jewellery, scarves and socks.  I’m wearing one gift, prayer wheel earrings from Bhutan and I’m curious to know whether they have the ओ३म् (om) prayer within.  I’ve been savouring the lightly fruity, fragrant black tea called ‘golden monkey,’ which I highly recommend.  Finally, the most unusual gift which some have commented is very fitting (I really don’t know what they’re talking about) is the gavel, which comes with a history and stories embedded in it’s slightly dented maple head.  What cases has it silently absorbed, judgement passed and now to be handled by one such as myself?

A day for boxes, shopping for some, but  musings too...