my almost perfect gift to John...
In 1995 the Orlando Sentinel called on readers to submit articles on the best advice they had ever received. My husband John doesn't write often, but when he does he is amazing. The article was a huge hit, fostering letters to the editor and quotes on the radio. Here is a link if you would like to read it.
John treasures his grandfather's letters. Some give advice like "Be respectful to your mother. I noticed you spoke sharply to her when you were driving..." or telling John that someday he really could be president of the United States. Charles A. Laesch was a successful bank president. His leadership made his bank one of the few in Michigan that did not fail during the crash of 1929. It is understandable that John patterned his career after this man he continues to revere.
Several years ago, John put on his grandfather's wristwatch and left the house to face the FDIC coming to close the bank where he was working. I wrote a poem for him on that sad and momentous day that you can read here. In the poem I mention John's Aunt Janet, born crippled and mentally disabled, the second of Charles Laesch's children born after his 18 month old son died from swallowing a button/pin, the eye of a doll. Eleven years after Janet, John's mom came into the world, developing Bright's disease as a young girl. Mr. Laesch had more than his share of trials.
For Christmas I gathered a favorite picture of John with his grandfather, a pocket watch awarded to Mr. Laesch after 25 years of service to his bank, and the original letter of advice and visited 'Bill the framer' at Art Systems in Winter Park. Bill has been there for as long as I can remember and knows how to select mats and frames that fit the artwork. We bounced ideas around, then I left the final assembly up to him, knowing his expertise can be trusted. Below is a photo of John's gift. Bill left the crease in the letter, rather than dry mounting it, so that it would retain the nature of personal correspondence. He also cut a hole in the matte on the back side so that we can read the inscription on the other side of the watch. I couldn't have been more pleased and gingerly put the brown paper wrapped treasure on the passenger seat of my van. When I got home and opened the automatic car door, to my horror the package had shifted, now wedged between the seat and the door. I watched as the car door showed no mercy, jamming the frame against the seat, slowly grinding open. The door may have been heartless, but the universe did show mercy, hearing my please of "please no, please no, please no!" There is a small unnoticeable dent in a frame. Thankfully we had chosen a distressed wood that I distressed a teensy bit more.
My two mantras of late: 1. If it's perfect or nothing, you'll always get nothing. 2. Perfectionism is the key to living a life of constant regret.