Tag Archives: letter

A Letter from Martha Stewart

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Monday, 9:00 a.m.

Hi Loretta,

This perfectly delightful note is being sent on paper I made myself to tell you what I have been up to. Since it snowed last night, I got up early and made a sled with old barn wood and a glue gun. I handpainted it in gold leaf, got out my loom, and made a blanket in peaches and mauves. Then to make the sled complete, I made a white horse to pull it from DNA that I just had sitting around in my craft room.

By then, it was time to start making the place mats and napkins for my 20 breakfast guests. I’m serving the old standard Stewart twelve-course breakfast, but I’ll let you in on a little secret: I didn’t have time to make the table and chairs this morning, so I used the ones I had on hand.

Before I moved the table into the dining room, I decided to add just a touch of the holidays. So, I repainted the room in pinks and stenciled gold stars on the ceiling. Then, while the homemade bread was rising, I took antique candle molds and made the dishes (exactly the same shade of pink) to use for breakfast. These were made from Hungarian clay, which you can get in almost any Hungarian craft store.

Well, I must run. I need to finish the buttonholes on the dress I’m wearing for breakfast. I’ll get out the sled and drive this note to the post office as soon as the glue dries on the envelope I’ll be making. Hope my breakfast guests don’t stay too long — I have 40,000 cranberries to string with bay leaves before my speaking engagement at noon. It’s a good thing.

Love,

Martha Stewart

P. S. When I made the ribbon for this typewriter, I used 1/8-inch gold gauze. I soaked the gauze in a mixture of white grapes and blackberries which I grew, picked, and crushed last week just for fun.

A Woman’s Email to Her Husband

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My Dear Husband,

I am sending you this letter via this internet communications thing, so that you will be sure to read it. Please forgive the deception, but I thought you should know what has been going on at home since your computer entered our lives TWO YEARS AGO. The children are doing well. Tommy is seven now and is a bright, handsome boy. He has developed quite an interest in the arts. He drew a family portrait for a school project, all the figures were good, and the back of your head is very realistic. You should be very proud of him.

Little Jennifer turned three in September. She looks a lot like you did at that age. She is an attractive child and quite smart. She still remembers that you spent the whole afternoon with us on her birthday. What a grand day for Jenny, despite the fact that it was stormy and the electricity was out.

I am doing well. I went blonde about a year ago, and discovered that it really is more fun! George, I mean, Mr. Wilson the department head, has uh, taken an interest in my career and has become a good friend to us all.

I discovered that the household chores are much easier since I realized that you didn’t mind being vacuumed but that feather dusting made you sneeze. The house is in good shape. I had the living room painted last spring; I’m sure you noticed it. I made sure that the painters cut holes in the drop sheet so you wouldn’t be disturbed.

Well, my dear, I must be going. Uncle George, uh, Mr. Wilson, I mean, is taking us all on a ski trip and there is packing to do. I have hired a housekeeper to take care of things while we are away, she’ll keep things in order, fill your coffee cup and bring your meals to your desk, just the way you like it. I hope you and the computer will have a lovely time while we are gone. Tommy, Jenny and I will think of you often. Try to remember us while your computer is booting.

Love,

Your Wife

Writing for Money

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A college student wrote a letter home:

Dear folks,

I feel miserable because I have to keep writing for money. I feel ashamed and unhappy to have to ask for another hundred, but every cell in my body rebels. I beg on bended knee that you forgive me.

Your son, Marvin.

P.S. I felt so terrible I ran after the mailman who picked this up in the box at the corner. I wanted to take this letter and burn it. I prayed that I could get it back. But it was too late.

A few days later he received a letter from his father. It said, “Your prayers were answered. Your letter never came.”