Dear Julie Fowlis,

Thank you for recording a Gaelic version of "Blackbird." I don't even have words for how much I love your "Lob-dubh."

Tapadh leibh,
B

Dear Second Week of the Semester,

You are cold, cruel, and heartless.  Okay, I'll be reasonable: You are unseasonably warm, cruel, and heartless.  A sore back, three hundred pages of reading, and a very awkward coffee date remind me that Christmas break not only softened my middle but molded my brain into a ridgeless lump and did nothing for my social life.  Please be merciful to me.

Love,

A

This guest letter brought to you (a little belatedly -- sorry!) by my dear friend A.

Dear Pancakes,

Thank you for being a tasty way to use up some old milk and butter last night after the Ash Wednesday service.

Of course, I'm not sure how thankful I should be that you nearly became ashes, yourselves. Why did you have to nearly burn? Why did you have to fill the entire apartment with smoke so that the alarms went off and brought my landlord upstairs to make sure his house wasn't burning down around him?

I get it. You're in cahoots with God. Shame on me for being ashamed of the ashes on my forehead from the Ash Wednesday service and being glad I hadn't seen anyone on the way into my apartment. Setting off the smoke alarms was just your little way of teaching me humility, wasn't it, Pancakes?

Well, it worked. And you were delicious, which more than made up for trouble.

Hug & kisses,
B

Dear Large Corporation That Told Me After My Phone Interview Last Monday That You'd Let Me Know Your Decision Within The Week,

Last I checked, a week was only seven days long. But you know what? It's okay. No really. I didn't want to hear back from you by today or anything. I'm not trying to plan my life or answer questions that require knowing whether I'm going to have a job this summer or not. It's cool. Take your time. After all, I've spent most of the past two years being led on in one way or another; goodness knows I can handle a few days more.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear BFF's 3-Year-Old Son,

Thank you so much for asking your mom today if Barbie was Justin Bieber's husband. Everything about that question shows me what an awesome combination of your parents you already are.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Metaphorical Blanket That Has "Don't Get Out of Bed This Morning" Stitched All Round Its Edges,

When my alarm goes off and you immediately descend on me, tucking yourself in around my toes and covering my head with the dark, heavy feeling of foreboding toward the day, why don't I ever listen to you? I have plenty of mornings when I just don't want to get out of bed, but you don't show up on those mornings. The mornings when you wrap me up in fear of the forthcoming day should make me sit up and take notice. "Hey, this morning's going to suck. Maybe I should just let it pass by without me."

But then I ignore you and I log in to work and my computer crashes and my health insurance company calls me and doesn't know where my policy is in its transfer across state lines.

You know something, though? That was just the morning. You just say, "Don't get out of bed this morning." That doesn't refer to the whole day.

Clean laundry, fun students, hilarious creative narrative assignments, a walk in the sunny and dormant botanical garden near my laundromat, and a surprise gift of chocolate-covered pretzels made the afternoon worth living for. So, you smothering old blanket, maybe I should listen to you more often, but then again, maybe I should focus on the distinction of "morning." Some morning's gonna hate. But that doesn't necessarily apply to the whole long day.

Still, I like the clear warning. Please don't stop alerting me when I'm about to enter a foregone forenoon.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Post Office,

So what you're saying is, you need a stamp, too?

Hugs & kisses (& 44¢),
B

Dear A,

You are one of many friends whose name begins with A, but you are the only one who currently lives near me. Thanks for being good company, for being generous with your car, for feeding my obsession with British television, and for reading my blog so much it seems you're starting to think in open letters, as well.

So, I guess I can also say thanks for giving me the slight feeling I'm slowly taking over the world, one needed stamp at a time.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Stephen Fry,

I've long suspected it, but in the past week, I think I can confirm that I really have a crush on you. After my dear friend A introduced me to your excellent series Kingdom, and after I discovered that you read the British Harry Potter audiobooks, there has really been no turning back.

I hope you don't find this terribly awkward. I know that we're a bit different in age and live several thousand miles apart, but I thought it was best if you knew the truth.

Hugs & kisses,
B

P.S. New discovery: you narrate LittleBigPlanet, too!! Oh, Stephen Fry. We do go way back.

Dear The Midwest,

Yesterday evening while I was walking west downtown into a brilliant orange sunset whose glowing center hovered just at eye level above the flat horizon and washed over the landscape like an overturned bucket of blinding paint, I had a great idea.

Have you ever considered mountains?

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Mom,

You are fantastic. I try to explain why, but when I see my description in words, it looks insincere and gooey. Let it suffice to say I love you. Have a great day.

Hugs & kisses,
B