Who Am I Where

Naming Flowers in Dean Village

Naming Flowers in Dean Village

19 June 2013
11:50 pm
Edinburgh

T. —

My aunt and uncle are visiting from San Francisco – they just arrived today. I cooked us a risotto verde for dinner. The internet is amazing. This recipe was supposed to be stuck in a vegetarian cookbook at my mother’s house in Pennsylvania. But I remembered some things about it, searched for it, and it was the 5th hit on google. I am amazed.

We took a walk after dinner down the Water of Leith. I’ve already showed you pictures from that walk when Andrew and I took it, but I loved Uncle Peter naming all of the flowers along the way, even the ones climbing up the bridge face in Dean Village.

Sara and Peter brought us a beautiful printed tea towel as a housewarming gift, which looks like an abstract impressionist scene from our own kitchen. Sara also gave me Infinite City: A San Francisco Atlas by Rebecca Solnit, author of A Field Guide to Getting Lost, which you would love, and which apparently she and I have both read. What a small literary world. Have I told you about the Field Guide? Or sent you any quotes from it? I will, if I haven’t. I probably still will, even if I have.

14Who Am I Where?

The title of this map is an interrogation — or an invitation to consider your own geographic identity — and a reminder that identity fluctuates on the scale of neighborhoods and individual institutions, not just on the scale of nations and regions. This is also a map of friendships and personal histories, origins and transformations.

– Infinite City, Rebecca Solnit

*

More tomorrow. Bed now for a busy day ahead tomorrow. I’m so glad we have this. I love waking up and reading your letters in bed. When do you check for mine?

Goodnight,
M

 

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One thought on “Who Am I Where

  1. We haven’t talked about Rebecca Solnit yet, but I’ve been wanting to buy A Field Guide to Getting Lost in a long time, as well as Wanderlust: A History of Walking .

    Because of time differences, I read your letters just before I write mine. Sometimes after, when I am in a hurry to write down what I want to say. When I find out that somehow I have responded to you without knowing first what you have written, I feel this thrill down my spine. Again am reminded by the thread that connects us.

    Your thoughts in the evening I carry with me throughout my whole day. Then, when we switch, your morning letters give me much to think about before I go to sleep. Your enthusiasm and energy juxtaposed with my melancholy during the night–it gives me texture (I don’t know how else to describe it).

    T.

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