Post by millring on Apr 17, 2024 17:57:19 GMT -5
Most of you probably know of Chris Jones and the Night Drivers. They've been around for so many years I don't remember when I got the first recording. Chris is a wonderful writer who, with a winsome and humorous style, has covered bluegrass music for a very long time. He's Ron Block's sort-of-brother-in-law (there's no official name for folks who become related by marrying siblings, but that's what Chris and Ron did). The other recordings I have of Chris are discs that Ron gave me upon a chance meeting I had with Ron while I was doing an art fair in Franklin, TN.
Anyway, this is one of Chris's newest. He says the song was inspired by an act that did him such good during the pandemic -- that he and his sister wrote letters to each other.
Letters.
I'd say it's a dying art, but that would be belated news (a little oxymoron -- belated news). It's dead. Mostly, anyway. As a mailman I still deliver cards. And occasionally I do deliver what I guess to be a letter. I guess that because the handwritten address is either flawless cursive, or the product of a shaky pen in an aged hand.
My mom was known for her letters. I can remember her sitting at her desk composing, the only light in the room the one illuminating the blotter in front of her. There was often a waste can by the desk, half full of thoughts that didn't make the cut. Starting over. It's a long process.
"Sorry this letter is so long. I didn't have time to write a shorter one." -Mark Twain
Mom's cursive was one of her own devising. It appeared a flawless calligraphy. I don't know where she picked it up, but there was no mistaking it for anyone else's writing. It wasn't flowery or even particularly feminine, but it was beautiful. "Betsey, you should write a book", she often heard in reply to her thoughtful, often wise letters of love and encouragement.
Nerve damage caused Mom's last letters to be typed. Apologetically. She hoped folks would understand the lack of care implied in a typed out letter.
Dar is a letter writer. She has a very large file of her correspondences. She knows what she's said to whom, and is very contentious about valuing folk's time. If they're going to take the time to read her letters, she wants to make sure she's not wasting their valuable time with needless repetition. I also see small, torn pieces of paper around the house with a name or two written on them. It's folks to whom she's either mentally composing a letter she will eventually write, or folks she has on her mind and talks with God about.
Letters. I think Chris Jones has caught the spirit of them.
Anyway, this is one of Chris's newest. He says the song was inspired by an act that did him such good during the pandemic -- that he and his sister wrote letters to each other.
Letters.
I'd say it's a dying art, but that would be belated news (a little oxymoron -- belated news). It's dead. Mostly, anyway. As a mailman I still deliver cards. And occasionally I do deliver what I guess to be a letter. I guess that because the handwritten address is either flawless cursive, or the product of a shaky pen in an aged hand.
My mom was known for her letters. I can remember her sitting at her desk composing, the only light in the room the one illuminating the blotter in front of her. There was often a waste can by the desk, half full of thoughts that didn't make the cut. Starting over. It's a long process.
"Sorry this letter is so long. I didn't have time to write a shorter one." -Mark Twain
Mom's cursive was one of her own devising. It appeared a flawless calligraphy. I don't know where she picked it up, but there was no mistaking it for anyone else's writing. It wasn't flowery or even particularly feminine, but it was beautiful. "Betsey, you should write a book", she often heard in reply to her thoughtful, often wise letters of love and encouragement.
Nerve damage caused Mom's last letters to be typed. Apologetically. She hoped folks would understand the lack of care implied in a typed out letter.
Dar is a letter writer. She has a very large file of her correspondences. She knows what she's said to whom, and is very contentious about valuing folk's time. If they're going to take the time to read her letters, she wants to make sure she's not wasting their valuable time with needless repetition. I also see small, torn pieces of paper around the house with a name or two written on them. It's folks to whom she's either mentally composing a letter she will eventually write, or folks she has on her mind and talks with God about.
Letters. I think Chris Jones has caught the spirit of them.
