LETTERS FROM HOME: THE POSITIVE SIDE OF GIVING UP HOPE

Jan. 12, 1995

Dear Nick and Christine,

Thanks for the photos of the miraculous babe. Looks like Neptune. Born to surf, I'm sure. Not so sure he'll get the chance. The signs from California look ominous. Earthquakes, riots, floods and Orange County, bastion of conservatism and home of teen-agers in Porches, goes bankrupt (what symbolism).

I hear a favorite bumper sticker there reads, "Now that I've given up hope I feel much better."

I'm with you, Nick, you ski bum. Get thee to Utah.

We're concerned about our friends in Northern California, too, but remember the river has to become a brown flood before it turns green and the salmon can run upstream.

We've just endured our first winter storm, the remnants of what inundated you. The creek next to our house turned to ice and our neighbor Margie's well froze up, so she had to carry water from her house to the horses.

I guess cars have to have a shakedown cold every winter here just like people do. Both of ours are in the shop. One won't stop and one won't go. There's always horses.

After dropping off the second casualty at a garage earlier this week, we walked across the street to phone DC's dad. "So this is what we've come to," DC said. "I'm 44 years old and I'm calling my dad for a ride."

"From Hardee's," I reminded her.

Moving back to your hometown is like that. One minute everything feels all warm and familiar, and the next it's all too familiar.

We're shopping for a house. Found one we like but the roof leaks. Ever call a roofer for an estimate? Did they ever call back?

We looked at another house with college boys living in the basement. It was a maze of Salvation Army couches and light switches that seem to have no purpose. One entrance and six-foot ceilings. In short, a deathtrap.

Nobody was home but it was taken as another bad sign when the Realtor heard a noise in one of the rooms and was afraid to go in.

The good thing about house-hunting is the reassurance that your own housekeeping isn't the worst in the world. Isn't even among the worst.

On the other hand, we've seen castles you wonder why people would abandon. I guess some need to keep creating their kingdom.

Another house had five fireplaces and a staircase out of a Victorian novel. But we'd have spent the rest of our lives returning it to the 19th century.

We aren't looking for a fait accompli or a Mission Impossible. Something in between we can make our own, make welcoming and call home. A place where DC's Chinese good-fortune banner can co-exist with my Indian blanket couch, with room for flying and running beasts. A place with shimmering radiators and high ceilings and a pantry and creaky stairs and a porch swing and places to hang wind chimes, and nooks for nieces to hide in.

We hope to find it. We still hope a baby comes, too. Hope, though, proves the existence of its opposite -- despair. Giving up hope might be good for all of us.

Love, Sam

~Sam Blackwell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.