When Mr. Collins Wooed Me

Dear Friend,

Today I'm sharing part of a letter I sent to my friend Jennifer in Hungary when I was 20 years old. The original letter is ten pages long. I have substituted names of real people for names of characters from Jane Austen novels. The cassette tape referred to at the start is not the same one I wrote about in my last post. This means there was a second tape, but sadly, it's missing.

View from my old bedroom window at my parents' farm.

July 8, 1996

Dear Jeni,

A couple weeks ago I started to make a cassette tape for you in return for the one you sent me, but I couldn't get past the intro. I kept rewinding and started over.

Thank you so much for that tape. It completely kept my attention from beginning to end.

 Actually, the moment I discovered the tape in our mailbox is a good place to start my story: I was pulling out our driveway, on my way to meet up with our [college age] church group for a whitewater rafting trip to Gatlinburg. We rented a van so we could all stick together.

Everyone chatted and played games on the way down, except Mr. Collins. He brought his CD player with headphones and a stack of books -- topics ranging from Claude Monet to the Roman Empire. 

We stayed at a very nice hotel. Upon arrival, we checked in and everyone met downstairs in the lobby. There were lots of round tables, couches, a fireplace and a glass wall with a view of a pool. The atmosphere was light and jovial except, in one corner, Mr. Collins had begun a very solemn Bible study.

Please don't misinterpret me: You know I love the Bible. It's just that for the rest of the trip, if Mr. Collins wasn't preaching to us, he was having a Bible study. I sensed it was a bit showy.

It rained most of the time we were there, but that didn't spoil our fun. We all bought plastic rain ponchos with little bears on them and splashed about like a flock of ducks. Not Mr. Collins. He wore a parka and carried a large umbrella. He walked with slow deliberate steps and perfect posture.

I tried to be nice, but I felt annoyed.

The rapids were not at all wild, though still a lot of fun. (Mr. Collins was NOT on my raft!) They went something like this: bumpy, bumpy, bumpy, smooooth (paddle-paddle), bumpy, bumpy, bumpy, smooooth (paddle-paddle), etc. That was the pattern with a few minor variations. We got to know our rafting instructor pretty well. His name was Robert Martin, he grew up on Abbey-Mill Road, not far from where Harriet Smith lives. Harriet was melancholy for the rest of the evening after rafting. It was as if she had found the love of her life and lost him all in the same day . . .

 . . . On the way home, Mr. Collins turned around and handed me a paper entitled "What Does It Mean to Be a Writer?" I sensed it was meant to impress me, but it did just the opposite. For him, the writing process begins as he "takes up his quill." I can't quote the rest exactly, but part of it went something like, "In the middle of the night I am awakened by a longing to pour out my soul to another who can speak my own sweet language." By the time I reached the conclusion, I felt certain he is in love with himself and the way he writes. He had been very eager for me to read his composition. I got the feeling he had jumped to the assumption that I love to write for the same reason as he. This could not be any further from the truth. I am not a good writer yet. Though, with maturity and much practice, I hope to become one someday. I believe writing is good only when it communicates real meaning in a clear way -- just as a Christian should be a person you can look at and see Christ. With good writing, the reader is not  distracted by fancy words, I don't want to write in such a way that my meaning can only be discerned by a select few.

So next, he started saying something about "kindred spirits." Then  he paused and looked straight at me.

"Do you know where I got that from?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I watched the entire thing over Easter vacation," he said.

"Do you know what my favorite part was?"

I was afraid to ask.

"It was the very end where Anne and Gilbert came together on the bridge."

"Oh yes, " I said dryly, "the resolution."

"She finally came to her senses!" he said, then swiftly turned his back to me and began talking to someone else.


So that was my trip to Gatlinburg. My tummy is rumbling now. I believe I'll stop and make some lunch. When I return, I'll have a new subject for you!

* * * * *

Other posts in this series: A Recording My Friend Made for Me Twenty Years Ago Today, Invisible Friendship, Air Mail: Letters I Wrote at Age 17

Also, you might enjoy How NOT to Propose, which is another Mr. Collins-themed post.

I will say -- it's been interesting for me to re-read my old letters and consider how some of my perceptions have changed in the last 20 years. I was a bit more haughty and self-assured then, I believe. 

Now that I am a wife and mother, I kind of feel sorry for Mr. Collins. He probably had a back story, though I'll never know it since I wouldn't let him near me. You can't always judge a man's character by the way he wooes a woman. We all take our turn being ridiculous. That's part of being human.

"There's nowt so queer as folk." :-)

Thanks for reading! 

Peace & Joy,

Adriana

A Recording My Friend Made For Me Twenty Years Ago Today

Dear Friend,

I was lying awake in bed at 4 o'clock this morning when I heard my phone buzz. It was a Facebook notification. My close friend Jennifer had just updated her status from Europe.

I am thankful for being able to communicate with my family easily. When we were in the Philippines, we mailed letters or made cassette tapes for the family. That was how Grandma and the others could hear what we sounded like. These were filled with one-sided conversations, songs, funny stories, or even awkward pauses when we ran out of things to say before we hit the stop button. I remember Mom and Dad trying to hurry to do anything to fill the tape since we did not want to waste the precious minutes on the tape. I always felt sorry for the people who actually listened to the WHOLE tape, front and back. I feel spoiled by how easy communication is now.

Jennifer is the daughter of missionaries who lived in the Philippines during her childhood. We met in middle school when her family was on furlough in the States. In high school they moved to Hungary, where she still lives today. Now she is a teacher in Budapest. She normally posts updates during her lunch break. I left a comment under her status.

Me:  I'm thankful to be the owner of a Jennifer tape from when you lived in Hungary in the early nineties. 

Me: Listening now.

Jennifer: Poor you. :-)

Me: It's wonderful. I keep tearing up over it! I just paused it about half way through side B. You said, "Good morning, Adriana. It's Sept. 12!" You were making this tape 20 yrs ago today!

Me: You just talked about your mom's birthday. And your [little sister] is brilliant. You describe her playing with her Hungarian friends in spite of the language barrier. Sulysap doesn't have phone service, but your dad has agreed to take you to a phone so you can call me. That would be my Christmas present. Your mom has made you some nice dresses by hand. There's a scene where you rescue Esther's shoe from the other side of a muddy lake. You're talking about what you and I will do next summer when I come to visit. I can visualize most of the places you're describing. You're going to miss your beautiful room with the "pure white walls" when you go to the Bible Institute. The curtains in the girls' room there are so drab . . . This is priceless.

Jennifer: Maybe I don't feel sorry for you. We'll see how you hold up at the end.

Me: I feel richly blessed this morning.

Jennifer: Funny, I completely forgot that I even made a tape for you.

Me: I knew it was in my letter box, but I haven't listened to it since you sent it to me. It's value has increased with time.

Jennifer in Toalmas at the Word of Life Bible College in 1994.

I visited Jennifer in the summer of 1995, a year after her recording was made. On the tape she talks about our plans for my visit.  We will work at a Bible camp, we'll travel throughout the countryside, and take day trips into the city. Her voice is the same --mellow and precise -- though of course she sounds younger. In part of the tape I can hear her alarm clock ticking as she recorded herself while still in bed one morning when she had a cold. There is a dog barking in the distance. A quiet day in a small village without telephones. 

I guess I'll go now. I love you very much. I think about you all the time. I can't wait until next summer. We're going to have so much fun. Even if you can only stay for a month, we'll still have a lot of fun. I know Budapest pretty well now. I don't get lost when I go there. I can even find places I've never been to before without too much of a problem. I think one of the best places you'll like is Buda. It's not polluted like Pest is. There's beautiful hills all over. That's also where the Castle District is. And you can walk for days in the Castle District just looking at stuff. So gorgeous.

Together at last in 1995.

So Jennifer, if you're reading this I want you to know that I listened to the WHOLE tape, front and back and there is no need to feel sorry for me. You apologized more than once on the tape because you were concerned I would find it boring. Well, it wasn't boring. Not one bit. It was a beautiful gift which I savored (and cried over) two times, twenty years apart. Thank you so much for your faithful friendship. I am richly blessed.

With Love,

Adriana

P.S. I can't wait to visit Hungary again!

Other posts in this series: Invisible Friendship, Air mail: Letters I Wrote at Age 17

Air Mail: Letters I Wrote at Age 17

Dear Friend,

When I was seventeen my best friend and her family moved from the United States to a village in Hungary. I lived with my parents and three younger siblings on a farm in the Midwest. I was home-schooled for much of high school. We had no computer. I learned to cope with loneliness by reading and writing letters. I now have our complete correspondence in my possession. I'll share a few snippets from letters with you now. You can read another post about these letters here.

Dec. 6, 1993
Dear Jeni,

I really had you on my mind last night. I lied awake in the dark for two hours before falling to sleep. I hope you are doing well. I miss you terribly.

It is very gray here. My sister and I got up and took a walk this morning. It is safe to do so now that gun season is over. Three cute little puppies followed us for a long time. The wind was mean. It cut at my face and caused my ears to throb. The puppies were so brave as they walked with us. Their fur flew back and they had to squint their eyes.

We put up our Christmas tree last week. To save money, we used a fake one that my Aunt Debbie got out of the garbage last year. Along with our normal decorations we added strings of popcorn. It looks beautiful . . . 

Dec. 13, 1993 

The other day I went to the library and checked out a book about Hungary. It has a nice map in the back. In your next letter, could you please send the map that I have enclosed back to me. I would love to know where Sulysap is. Please circle it on the map . . . 

. . . I dream about going to Scotland someday. Want to come along? How fun it would be to climb a heather hillside and have another special picnic! -- Except this one would be spread out on a Tartan blanket. Imagine exploring a seaside town or a castle! Imagine listening to the bleating of sheep or the music of bagpipes. To experience Scotland with all the senses would be such an adventure!

 . . . Right now everyone is gone for various reasons. I have the entire evening to myself. I cannot think of a more enjoyable way to spend this time than by conversing with you . . .  

 

 . . . I know many people don't believe in making New Year's resolutions, but I always do. I have pulled out my resolutions from last year. It's funny to recall how most of them have been broken. Here's my favorite: "I will eat 52 sweets."  -- HA! HA! Yea, right! More like 552!

 . . . The saying on my desk easel for today is sort of dry (a bit like, "Friends, unlike fashions, should never change." How much thought went into that?) So I have decided to send you the saying for Dec. 11 instead:

"Tell me how much you know of the sufferings of your fellow men and I will tell how much you have loved them."
~ Helmut Thielicke

That all I'll share for now -- though I've only shared portions of two letters, and I have stacks of them!

Have you saved any old letters from the days before email?

Peace & Joy,
Adriana

Silent Retreat: Part Three -- Pictures for You

Dear Friend,

Enclosed are some pictures I took of my walk around the Spiritual Center while on my silent retreat. Hope you are well. 

Love,

Adriana

P.S. Do you remember what it was like to open the mailbox and find a letter with a dear friend's handwriting on the envelope? I would open these treasures ever-so-carefully with a letter opener. Sometimes as I unfolded the stationery, several photographs would spill unto my lap. Sheer delight! This was my attempt to simulate that experience for you. ♥ ~A

Invisible Friendship

Recently, I found some letters. 

Written by hand. 

A whole correspondence from across two continents, spanning seven years between my best friend and me. (I now have both sets.)

I uncovered them from deep storage and I'm in the process of carefully reading each one.

Finding these letters was an event. I expect they will find their way into my blog posts for quite some time.

This morning, as I set out to walk through the cold, crunchy fields near my home, I pondered this quote which I had copied into a letter in January of 1995:

Familiarity sometimes renders people physically invisible, for you find yourself talking to the heart -- to the essence . . . rather than to the face. ~Michael Welzenbach

I understand this quote is referring to when you are in someone's actual presence and you know the person so well they become physically invisible to you. You don't notice their "warts," so to speak. 

But to me, the quote describes the way I used to feel about receiving letters from my dear friend, Jeni. We were forced apart physically through life circumstances, yet through our letters we drew closer than ever before.

And that is how I've come to feel about blogging. We sit behind our computer screens and we share  what matters to us. Bit by bit we crack open the door of our souls and allow others to peer in.

I have always been more transparent in letters than I am able to be in person. (Maybe this is also why I often think of the writers of the classics as my personal friends.)

As I mentioned yesterday, I'm into making what I call "cyber-samplers" lately. Here's a new one for you --

Love to all,

Adriana