Excerpt:

(photo-copy of a letter in Ms. Talamini's hand writing, she apparently kept photo copies of some of her correspondence)

Dawn Wolfschild
XXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXX

My dearest Dawn,

It was so good of you to come visit me! And yes, I do recall that you were in town for a conference, but it was still very kind of you to take the time to chat. I hope those youngsters appreciate what a gem they have in you. I know we didn't when I was a child, so I suppose I can't really fault the young people you teach now.

And I am glad to hear that you're teaching. You talk as if you don't have much to offer; you should listen to yourself some time. Your passion for social work is obvious. That alone is a wonderful lesson for anyone considering going into the field, and an inspiration for social workers who have let the daily round of troubled children grind them down. Has anyone considered contacting a day-spa, or a cruise line? Getting continueing education credits while being pampered would certainly emphasize the need for people in the helping professions to make sure they take very good care of themselves. I seem to recall one of the gentleman at the Senior Center mentioning a son owning a spa. If I happen to speak to him before I speak to you again, I'll have him contact the conference organizers if they could host some classes. If nothing more, how often do you get the chance to teach in a hot tub?

I'm sure you expected this, but this isn't just a thank you note. You mentioned your concerns about a particular little boy. You didn't mention his name, or really any identifying information, which it totally appropriate - I'm not part of his case management team. I rather wish I was. I know I said this when you were here, but I don't think I can emphasize it enough - if the child loves music, if music helps him find his focus, brings him joy and doesn't actually cause any harm to him or others, let him have it. Goodness knows we've both seen more complex mainstreaming accomodations. Let the child sing or hum, give him a radio with earplugs, or maybe one of those little music playing devices so many people have now. I have one; it was a gift a while back. I still don't really understand how to use it. I'd be happy to forward it to you, if it would help.

If there's any way to do it, get him in front of live musicians, and let him learn an instrument. My heart says he less needs lessons than to be with someone who really plays well, someone he can learn from more like an apprentice than a formal instructor. Forcing him to play scales would be like nailing a bird's feet to the floor. I can't help but feel that he already knows music, as much as he already knows how to breath, as much as babies actually know more sounds than their parents can tell apart. What he needs from use you is the chance to see how to let the music out. I think you'll find that, given the choice between following stricker rules if he's allowed more music and having less music, he'll leap at the chance to have the music. But, too, try not to control him with the music. It would be very easy to dangle it in front of him, until he come to hate it as a tool of petty tyranny. That would be worse than beating or neglecting him, I'm sure. From what you've said, I do feel that this child needs music NEEDS music almost as much as he needs air and water.

I once tried to promise you that I'd stop telling you how to do you job. I remember it clearly. I'm still quite grateful you stopped me. At the time I couldn't imagine I would even have more experience than you do. I was too young to realize that different experience could be just as important.

I don't know the boy, I've never met him, and you said very little about him specifically, but I cannot stop thinking about him. I think, rather I feel, that, in some way, he has something in common with a little girl a long time ago who could watch soap bubbles for hours. A little girl who would rather wash her hands than go out to play, just to see the moving rainbows of soap film between her hands. He needs music, Dawn, as much as he needs his next breath. I can't explain how I know, but I do.

And I'll actually stop telling you how to do you job. I'm even (mostly) resisting the urge to ask you to let me know how he's doing. You know I don't hugely fret about every child I meet or hear about. When we're honest, I think we both fret a little bit for every child we so much as hear about. Even children in apparently happy families can have so many things go wrong for them.

And no, I'm not spending all my time fretting about your cases. I've had to take a lighter caseload since the accident. My supervisor and my coworkers have made a point to keep my workload down! They've really been wonderfully supportive.

Now this I only mention in case you see it on the news. Some young man has decided I have some information I'm keeping from him. He's sent letters which I have not returned. Well, being ignored didn't discourage him. He turned up at my door. How he found my address I simply do not know. I feel guilty for this, but I'm glad I wasn't at home. When no one responded to his knock, he pounded harder and started yelling. Mrs. Reynolds next door was about scared to death. She called the police. Apparently the man didn't take well to their encouragement to leave. He so vehemently insisted he had a right to be there that they went to the neighbors about him. Of course, none of my neighbors had ever seen him there. So, the officers requested he leave, and return with an appointment and a calmer state of mind.

You know how well some people don't take being asked to be calm? This man was that sort. Apparently he screamed at the officers enough that they arrested him for disturbing the peace and threatening an officer, and they left me the contact information for the officer in charge with a flyer about no-contact order. Just to be on the safe side, I contacted the officer, and filed for the no-contact order. I hadn't considered him to be a stalked before that incident, and wasn't sure if he really was a stalker. But he had made such a poor impression on the officers that the judge granted the order.

Really, I do feel sorry for the young man. What could have made him think that I, of all people, could answer some esoteric question or fill some unmet need? I do hope he abides by the no-contact order. Hopefully this will be the wake up call he needs to get real help.

Other than that bit of unwelcome excitement, everything's been pleasantly uneventfull. The roses are doing well, much to my amazement. When I did try and tend them, I seemed to always do some correct thing at the wrong time, or the wrong sort of thing for that sort of rose. Now that I mostly ignore them, they're growing like weeds. If only the weeds responded so to my ministrations! I've taken to paying the neighborhood children by the bag to pull up ivy. One, just one neighbor decided that english ivy would be just the thing, and now it's invaded like unchecked botanical Goths sweeping over Rome. I thought about borrowing a goat, but it was too likely the goat would like my roses better than the ivy.

I do hope things are going well for you. I especially hope that you got to catch up on your sleep once you got home. Rest may not be a true panacea, but it certainly helps.

All my best,
Gwen