Gum on My Shoe

The magic is inside you ... there ain’t no crystal ball! — Dolly Parton Wednesday May 6, 2026 Dear Fran. Today is our fifteenth anniversary as friends. Fifteen is a big number. Not as big as 5,479 which is the number of days we’ve been friends but big nonetheless. Remember in the beginning when I insisted on marking each succeeding month of our friendship? I’ve always had a tendency to overdo things. To be too much. You’ve done well to put up with me! I couldn’t have known we’d still be friends all these years later but from the moment we met your presence in my life was something I wanted to celebrate. That hasn’t changed, though I don’t say it so often. Fifteenth anniversaries are traditionally marked with crystal. Apparently it symbolises the “clear, sparkling, and transparent nature” of the relationship as well as its beauty, strength, and durability whilst simultaneously reminding both parties “to handle their lasting bond with care, as crystal is fragile.” So mu...

To send a letter is a good way to go somewhere without moving anything but your heart. — Phyllis Theroux This blog post was inspired by a recent video call with Fran while I was taking one of my lunchtime walks. As we passed the pub I noticed the postbox by the road was shrouded in black plastic. A printed notice declared it out of use. A little research suggests it’s part of Royal Mail’s “ postboxes of the future ” programme to upgrade the traditional red postboxes to support barcode scanning and handle small packages. Others in the region are being upgraded, including the box outside The Hungry Caterpillar post office in Dipton, Stanley. According to one report , “the news has been met with scepticism and sadness by villagers.” I know how they feel. There’s a post office counter in the general store beside the pub and a postbox at our local supermarket, but I’ve used this one hundreds, if not thousands, of times. Seeing it taped up like that was a shock. It felt and still...

“I understand,” I said, “call me another thrower.” — Loren Eiseley I’ve always loved letter writing . My friend Maya and I have written to each other almost every week for years. I look forward to reading her letters, but no less welcome are the envelopes she decorates. They’re works of art in their own right. One recent envelope (pictured) reminded me of a shoreline. As I wrote to her: Thank you for your letter and the truly lovely envelope with all its rich colour and texture. I’m seeing it as a shoreline with waves, white water and foam — and tiny starfish! I thought for a moment, then continued. It reminds me of a story called “The Tale of the Starfish.” Do you know it? It’s about a little girl saving starfish by returning them to the sea. More generally, it’s about making a difference no matter how small. I’m a big believer in that. The story I recalled is a reworking of “The Star Thrower” by Loren C. Eiseley, first published in 1969. Various versions exist, of whi...

Artists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide. (Donald Woods Winnicott) The above quotation describes a dynamic I know well. Publishing a new blog post every Wednesday means each week I need to identify a topic and then write a piece I’m happy to present to the world. Some are more personal than others, but whatever the topic there’s a balance to be struck between wanting to communicate and respecting my vulnerability. The Desire to Communicate As I’ve written previously , I can’t imagine a time when I’m not expressing myself creatively in some way. That’s taken many different forms over the years, including clay modeling, painting, woodwork, and photography. Mostly, though, I’ve sought to communicate through my writing. These days that’s primarily through this blog, but in the past it’s included poetry, factual articles, short stories, and books. Friends have described me as having a passion for writing, or it being ...

I had the pleasure to be contacted recently by Tony Roberts, Chief Shepherd of Delight in Disorder Ministries and author of When Despair Meets Delight . He invited me to contribute to an upcoming book, Hope for Troubled Minds: Letters Between Those With Brain Illnesses and Our Loved Ones . This interested me because the topic and message fit so well with what Fran and I share in our books and here on our blog. I also love the open letter format, and posted a selection of open letters here last year. At Tony’s request, I’m delighted to share the details of the book and extend the invitation to contribute. If you’re interested or would like to know more about the project, get in touch with Tony at the details shown below. Closing date for submissions is June 1, 2023. Hope for Troubled Minds: Letters Between Those With Brain Illnesses and Our Loved Ones At 8 you started hearing voices. We took you to a doctor who put you on medicine, but your depression plunged. In Middl...

I think I became a writer because I used to write letters to my friends, and I used to love writing them. I loved the idea that you can put marks on a page and send it off, and two days later, someone laughs somewhere else in the world. — David Nicholls I recently shared a selection of open letters I’ve written over the years, but what about regular, personal letters? Letter writing has always been an important part of my life and I thought it might be interesting to explore that a little. The inspiration to do so came when I discovered my friend Louise shares my love of letter writing. “It’s such a lovely thing,” she told me. “That hardly anyone does now. My mom used to make us write thank you letters to all our relatives after Christmas and birthdays so I think it’s been instilled in me.” I can trace my letter writing back to childhood too. I mentioned this last year in a blog post titled Thank You Anyway: The Gift of Ingratitude . We’re taught to be grateful — or rather, to ...

In the first of a series of themed posts , I’ve compiled a selection of my open letters, plus two letters and a poem written to me by other people. The open letter format can be useful, not merely to share what we’d like to say — or have said — to someone, but also as a novel approach for presenting other content. I’ve provided a brief introduction and quoted from each letter, but I encourage you to read them in full. An Open Letter to My Father My father died when I was eighteen. This open letter to him was the first time I’d written publicly about my childhood and family life. It was first published in June 2016 by The Good Men Project . I grew up accepting disability and illness as things you put up with without making a fuss about them. But Dad, that wasn’t enough. I didn’t learn how much it fucking hurts to live in chronic pain. I didn’t learn how someone can rail against the injustice of it all, scream at the universe — and then move past that and...

By Brynn McCann December 8, 2021. Dear Marty. It’s late here; 12:42 am. As per usual, I am sleepless. It’s seven forty-two your time. A whole new day in your world and an end to one in mine. You would have been proud of me today. I advocated hard for the right meds to get me to sleep. The thing is, I shouldn’t have to work so hard to get the care I need, on top of living with my illness. South Dakota does a poor job of taking care of it’s mental health clients. Something needs to change. You know, for the last six years, you have been a constant source of light in a dim room I’ve lived in. You’ve accepted me as I am and loved me just as I am. You never judge and you lead by example... and that’s the best way to lead, I think. Your “pathological positivity,” as you call it, is infectious and it always helps me to see what’s good in me, even when I can’t see it myself. I mean, you think I’m pretty even though I’m overweight and I feel like a frump queen. We are kindred s...

Dear Marty, We’ve known each other for a long time but I don’t think I’ve ever written you a letter before. I’ve thought of it a few times, even started once or twice. Maybe I won’t finish this letter either, or will decide not to send it after all. It’s scary to get real with someone you’ve known a long time but have never really been open with. But you know that, I think. It seems to me we would both benefit from some honest connection. So here goes. I see what you post on social media but sometimes I wonder what’s really going on for you. From what you’ve shared recently it seems you’ve been going through a lot and I just wanted to reach out and ask if you’re ok. You seem to be there for other people a lot. I hope you have people who are there for you too. I’m pretty sure you do, to be honest, but hey if you ever need a new shoulder or someone to hold space for you, I’m here. I don’t find it that easy to open up, even with people I trust. But I think we would do ok. I was talk...

By Daisy Davidson As a young person living in such unprecedented times, I felt empowered to use my free time for the better. I saw on social media and in the news how people are struggling to cope with being isolated and the impact that this pandemic will be having on people’s mental health. It may be easier to cope if you have close family and friends or if you’re tech-savvy with social media. However, a lot of people are isolated in day-to-day life and the most social contact they get is at a local cafe or pub. I wanted to create a website for everybody and therefore, I made it as simple to use as possible. I made sure no email, phone number or any other personal details were necessary. I hope that people can find comfort in the fact that they’re not alone in how they’re feeling. I felt it crucial that the writers’ anonymity is kept, unless they choose otherwise, as people can often fear the judgement of others. My website Letters to the World took around ten days to creat...

Many moons ago I marked Valentine’s Day each year by exchanging friendship cards with one of my dearest friends, PJ. (Pamela Jane. She was Jane to her family, PJ or Pam to friends.) This was long before social media and instant messaging (yes really!) and we wrote letters to each other all the time, often by return of post. For years we shared the ups and downs of our lives that way; our hopes and fears and dreams for the future. I’m not sure we ever called each other best friends but that’s what we were. Over time we drifted apart, as friends do sometimes. Our letters became less frequent. At some point we stopped sending each other Valentine’s cards. And then she got sick. Many years later I included our story in the first book I wrote with Fran. I knew little of the disease [multiple sclerosis], and never took the trouble to ask or research what it meant. My friend spoke pragmatically of the impact it would have on her life, imagining and planning for a gradual physical deteri...

Dear Mum. It’s been a while since I wrote you. Six months. What was the last thing I sent you? A postcard, probably. Someone — one of your sisters, my aunts — told me a while back that my letters to you went unopened. Hence the postcards: nothing for you to open (or not open), a pretty picture for you to look at, and less aching white space for me to fill each week. It made it easier — for me at least. Nothing too heavy. News from up here in the north. Family. Friends. Work. Then best wishes for your wellbeing and family down there. Phone calls from me ceased when you could no longer take them. When you could no longer remain awake at the phone or even, perhaps, know who I was. You used to love texting, before illness took its final hold, but the special large screen phone we got you so you could take and make calls from your room languished unused and uncharged. I cherish the times I came to visit with you, on my own or with Pam. The time I took you to Washington Wildfowl Tr...