June 2026

I love you.

The merry month of May brought me a great deal of joy. Connecticut and Rhode Island have breathtakingly beautiful rhododendron and azalea, as well as dogwood’s graceful splendor. The air has been perfumed with lilac and lily-of-the-valley.

Wherever I walk or where I come and go on bus or car trips, the beauty of this season is simply magnificent. I’m soaking it all in.

The boats are returning to the harbor. Life’s seasons don’t last, nothing does, but when we fully appreciate the abundant gifts, we’re living the good life.

As most of you know, I have been collecting paintings by the French artist Roger Mühl since 1961. Because I’ve written about him over the years and his paintings are on the walls and surfaces of the cottage, you know something about his style.

A friend of mine, who knows of my powerful love of Roger’s art (as well as his deep influence on my life as we developed a beautiful friendship) showed me a painting of his that was coming up for auction. The painting, of a garden with two blossoming almond trees in full blazing white glory against a blue sky, is a beauty. Purple irises are in bloom in the foreground. Mühl’s garden paths lead you into private, secret mysteries that lure you to explore more hidden beauty around the bend of the seemingly endless path.

I fell in love with this painting. Paradise is the garden. The last painting I bought was from the David Findlay Galleries in New York City in 2008, just a few months after Mühl died in his sleep. I didn’t need to go to New York to see the painting. An art expert told me it was in excellent condition. I’ve lived with Roger’s art since I was 20. When an artist dies, finding a treasure is thrilling because it means a private collector died or needed to deaccession. I felt I needed to be in the bidding because I was on fire and felt Roger’s spirit-energy profoundly in the painting. I got a rush of adrenaline waiting for the phone call just before Lot 59 started bidding. My cheeks turned pink, and I knew. It felt so right to be part of this Mühl fever at auction.

As an interior designer, I bought at live auctions for both myself and my clients. I’d never, however, bid live over the phone. In every case, there is a budget, and I had to have the discipline to lower my paddle when other people kept bidding.

The phone rang.

I was excited, but calm, as I took deep breaths, deliberately knowing I had to stop bidding when the price had gotten up to what I had written on a card in front of me. I was in steep competition. The excitement was intense.

The price the painting sells for at auction has a percentage the buyer pays the auction gallery. And then there is shipping and handling and tax. It adds up. Everything considered, I set a budget and stuck to it.

I wouldn’t want to have taken my blood pressure in the seconds I was bidding. It all went so fast. My heart was pounding and my palms were wet. It was exhilarating. Thrilling. Just for that flash of time, Mühl was alive!

The universe sent the price way over my budget. Sold to an unknown buyer. No one knows for sure when Mühl painted this garden, but I believe it could have been displayed in an exhibition at the David Findlay Gallery in the fall of 1986, when they had several gardens with almond trees in that exhibition catalog.

It had been 18 years since I fell in love with one of his paintings. I’ll be on the lookout for a garden that will always be in bloom. You never know!

A friend of mine is a giant Billie Holiday fan. The Ivoryton Playhouse had a one-actress performance, Lady Day at Emerson’s Bar and Grill: An Evening with Billie Holiday.

Christina Acosta Robinson not only was able to replicate Billie Holiday’s voice, but she is a fine actress with amazing timing and humor. The audience was at the bar, enjoying the piano, bass and drum background music as we were enthralled with the song list. “Strange Fruit” was particularly poignant; we felt the pain. I was able to envision what it was like to be Black in America.

Billie was sipping and smoking as she talked to us about what her life was really like, sharing her stories and singing songs that connected to her real life’s drama. Her life was full of contradictions, and we were sitting right there listening, as she was being heard. We never knew what to expect. Todd L. Underwood, the director, asked us to “Listen to what she says, but also what she doesn’t. That’s where the truth really is. And if you find yourself unsure whether to laugh, lean in or sit quietly — trust that instinct. That tension is part of the experience, just like it was for her.” She told the truth.

My sister-in-law sent me an article she read in the New York Times in praise of returning to the practice of communicating with pen on paper, addressing a letter to you.

Elizabeth Passarella had received a handwritten letter from her sister a few months ago, prompted by Virginia Evans’ bestselling epistolary novel The Correspondent. As you know, I want everyone to read Evans’ inspiring book about the practice of sitting down and writing a letter to someone with whom you want to connect.

Letters connect me to you, you to me. I sometimes mail letters with a stamp that says, “From Me to You.” Evans believes that “finding a handwritten letter addressed to you is a singular experience. You think, ‘I am sought out. I am seen.’”

I continuously believe that when we sit down at a desk or table (or beach chair or bed tray) to write a handwritten letter or postcard, we are sending our ship out to sail — on a most pleasant voyage. None of us has control over the outcome. All we can control is our own actions. If our intentions are pure, we will feel good having made the effort. In many ways, letter writing is a form of mindfulness meditation. We are creating an original ritual. We can light a candle (not when we’re at the beach, or in bed!), pause, sip a cup of tea, think of the personality and interests of the person we’re addressing and gently put our pen down on a blank piece of stationery paper. Dear Fran, thank you for sending the article about letter writing — I hope you’ve received my letter by now!  

In my era, our parents instilled in us to write proper thank-you letters when we received a gift of money or a present. My parents sat my brothers, my sister and me down when we were young and supervised us in this process. Today, because of the internet, children haven’t been raised to write longhand thank yous. Because cursive writing is no longer taught in most schools, some children can’t even read handwritten letters if they are not printed.

I wrote Gift of a Letter in 1990 in praise of the 18^th century habit of letter writing. I feel the need to revive this form of touching those we love now more than ever. As we know, some of the most intimate, emotionally moving and beautifully written prose is in the form of epistolary exchanges. When you and I exchange letters, we are making a soul connection in real time.

Because scientists show us that writing by hand lights up many parts of the brain associated with our five senses, our creativity and memory, this should be an incentive. Typing also does engage the same areas of the brain, but to a lesser degree than handwriting.

Virginia Evans’ epistolary novel is being made into a movie, and the main character is being played by the 85-year-old Jane Fonda. Save me a seat at the theater!

I’m so fortunate to have received wonderful letters from so many of you over dozens of years. I love receiving your postcards from your travels. My friends Karen and Charles were on a cruise enjoying the Rhine River on their way to Amsterdam to see the tulips. When you go to an art exhibit and see a painting that makes you think of me, I’m so delighted and grateful to know you thought of me. My friend Mary just returned from a trip to Venice and told me a postcard is on its way.

This week, my friend Regan sent me a note about her garden’s progress on a hand-painted watercolor card her daughter Sage created of her nasturtiums. These treasures are such caring, thoughtful connections that come from open, loving hearts.

Letters, notes and cards that are written by hand touch a deep chord in our soul. These gifts are powerful — sent and received. We uplift the energy of the universe one person at a time. What friend or admirer are you going to write your next letter to? What are you going to convey? Let the ink flow.

Inspired by reading of my admiration of The Correspondent and knowing my deep love of letters — having read Gift of a Letter — an author sent me one of her books, Love & Saffron, also an epistolary story. This enchanting novel by Kim Fay is of “friendship, food and love.”

In the book, two strangers begin a correspondence when a young woman writes a fan letter to a middle-aged writer twice her age, about a tale of digging for clams in her monthly column, “Letter from the Island,” in Northwest Home & Life. This letter is dated October 1, 1962.

With the letter, Joan Bergstrom sends some saffron to Imogen Fortier, and a friendship flowers through rambling messages, recipes and increasing admiration. From Los Angeles to Washington state, and back and forth, their exchange of letters is sent.

To celebrate one year of writing chatty letters to each other, Imogen Fortier writes Joan:

I hope you don’t mind that I mentioned our friendship in my recent column in Northwest Home & Life. I couldn’t help myself. I want the world to know how dear you are to me.  

While I exchange occasional letters with friends who don’t live close, most prefer the telephone ever since Ma Bell started offering inexpensive rates on nights and Sundays. Personally, I don’t enjoy the phone. It feels impersonal to me, which might sound strange, since a voice in one’s ear is a cozy thing. But when I’m on the line, I can mend or play Solitaire, while with a letter I must pay close attention. There is unequaled satisfaction in composing words on a blank page, sealing them in an envelope, writing an address in my own messy hand, adding a stamp, walking to the mailbox and raising the flag. It’s like preparing a gift, and I feel like I receive one when a letter arrives — yours most of all.

What started out as a fan letter evolved into life-changing insights and wisdom exchanged between Joan and Immy. Immy, a journalist, types her letters to Joan. They both tuck goodies in their envelopes. Recipes, spices, herbs and secrets. Envelopes enclose; they wrap up.

Writing with a fountain pen is a habit and ritual that is as natural to me as breathing. I’m well aware, however, that typing is far more convenient, faster and in many ways more practical for most people now because of the internet or because your hand may not be steady enough to write legibly due to illness, age or related reasons. I totally understand time constraints are real. Winston Churchill dictated his letters and addressed the person with his pen and closed with his signature. His letters sold for a ton of money because he was Winston Churchill. In whatever form, when an envelope addressed to you arrives in the mailbox, from someone with kind words, it is always a gift.

Any way you feel comfortable corresponding is great. The whole point is to get in the habit of sending a missive in an envelope with a stamp. Think how you’d miss the post office if it became ancient history. My mailman Kim has retired, and we’ve become good friends. I’m grateful for the grace notes I receive in my letter box!

Cherié, your love of book learning is inspiring and seriously educational. Deep. I feel intellectually enlightened and elevated with all your book reviews and commentary about your love of literature. I’m thankful for your writing your letters on lovely stationery. We share a love of pretty stationery, inks and stamps.

A recent letter suggesting a book I should read was written on Nile blue stationery hand-bordered in white. The watermark read “Smythson of Bond Street London.” We hold stationery up in the light and find a translucent design impressed on paper during manufacturing. I appreciate these subtle delights that linger in my soul with vivid illumination.

Upon reading your comments about One Aladdin Two Lamps by the English writer Jeanette Winterson, I called Bank Square Books to order it. “We’ll set a copy aside for you, Alexandra.” The universe (with the nudge from Cherié) directed me to take my “hop” bus to the bookstore, then proceed to a favorite reading spot, Sift Bakery in Mystic. Beginning a new book, by an author I had been unfamiliar with that was highly recommended and immediately available, set the stage for a rewarding reading experience.

A review in The Guardian described the book as a “dizzying whirligig of memoir, history, philosophy, politics and self-help.” Here are some excerpts, from Cherié and me.

📚 Hearts break when hope is gone.

📚 The reason I am an evangelist for literature is that steady, regular engagement with deep thought, with lit-up language, with vivid worlds, encourages us to go inward, not outwards. Inward is where we discover and create resources that belong to us. Resources that are intrinsic, not external.

📚 Language itself, the words on the page — and the concentration of mind needed to read — widens and deepens our mental capacity. And crucially, there is no one else interpreting the experience for us — no director, no scriptwriter, no actors. It’s pure and direct. Your mind and the mind of the writer. It’s a private conversation. An intimacy not found elsewhere.

📚 Sometimes, when you are reading, a sentence will knock you out — force you to pause — you will look up, think about what just overtook your whole self. Maybe you will underline it. Maybe you will always remember that line.

📚 There are plenty of enemies on the outside … these figures are horrible enough in the flesh, but their real power is when they live, unintended and unwanted, rent-free in our minds. It’s when, and because, we internalize these baleful bullies that their power ruins the bright spirit that we are — or could be.

Let me pause, inhale deeply and reflect on what Jeanette is reminding us. We can’t stop the bad guys from lying, cheating and thieving, but we do have control over what we choose to think. Our brain is not a machine that can be coded and programmed by someone else. Through sustained discipline, focus and practice, we can learn to think the thoughts that open our hearts to our highest realms, our greatest compassion and most brilliant light. You are the only one who can think the most beautiful, loving thoughts in your own mind. Let your mind create your “bright spirit.” Let mine shine the same radiant light.

📚 Art opens our imagination. Being able to imagine what it is like to be someone else – including someone we would never want to know in real life – brings awareness of what is beyond our experience. There isn’t time to experience very much in this life – and much of what we do experience just gets lost. Or, as the poet T. S. Eliot puts it: "We had the experience but missed the meaning."

 Could be a poster for social media…. Art is there to focus our attention.

 An interrupted being is a writer’s worst nightmare — or it used to be.

📚  Now, it’s a trap that affects us all — the life of interruption. It doesn’t seem to be making anyone’s days happier.

Settling down to read a book is a refusal of such madness. You could say that reading interrupts the interruptions.

Modern life is predicated on constant interruptions because of the latest technology. Humans adapt. We, over time, normalize things that are far from normal. If you feel similar emotions as I do, I need lots of quiet, uninterrupted, unpressured time to think deeply, with silence and distance from all the hype and noise. Jeanette understands that “every creative moment is an invention.”

One Aladdin: Two Lamps is full of wisdom, wit, beautiful writing, invention and great storytelling. She reminds us that “I can change the story because I am the story.” Every moment of our lives, we are living our own story. We can change the story because we are the story. We can become calm when we focus. We ease into a mental rhythm and harmony. We are not only material beings. We have a divine spark that is eternal. We choose to awaken the vast mysteries in the cosmos, yearning to find meaning and purpose in the ineffable wonder of our beautiful world.

We want to be still to hear the birds sing their hearts out, because when we’re present, inhaling the universe’s teachings, we’re enlightened. “Language, like love, needs someone to hear what is being said — and for that someone to respond.”

📚 Imagination is creation. What happens next, if you are lucky, is love. ... Imagination is our only way to see beyond the present emergency. Imagination allows compassion, even to those who do not deserve it. Imagination is willing to tell the story again. Imagination is the power of change

I send you love and great joy as you embrace June’s garden delights and meaningful insights and reflections.

Love & Live Happy,