12/08/2025
The letter sent to our amazing President Cindy Flores from her kidnapped bell. You are invited to our January dinner meeting to find out how this kidnapping-in-jest (hopefully) ends.
Truckee, California
Somewhere between a secret swing and downtown, sipping something warm
December, 2025
Dear Cindy,
Merry (almost) Christmas from your runaway bell!
I hope you’re staying warm. You missed out on some amazing ham and turkey last night. I, on the other hand, have been trying to live my absolute best kidnapped life while missing you.
Since Thanksgiving, I have enjoyed witnessing so many volunteers and kids working hard at the Christmas Tree lot. The kids working the fundraiser kept passing me around like I was the Stanley Cup. I got selfies with past presidents who held me with a smirk while reminiscing of our past memories together when they were my caretakers. I was held by several current members who couldn’t stop laughing. It seemed to be both laughter in jest, as well as nervous laughter for when they become the future president. There were even a few wide-eyed recruits who are definitely joining after this level of nonsense. One of the high-school volunteers rang me so hard I think I saw stars. Worth it.
You were sadly missed at the Christmas dinner last night. I sat at the tables (okay, I was propped on a napkin, but still) while everyone demolished ham, turkey, and about seventeen kinds of potatoes. I visited the dessert table three separate times; somebody owes me for emotional damage involving pecan pie I couldn’t eat, but I enjoyed the last bite of Anna's pastry. I posed next to every raffle prize, including that gorgeous tree that Hoop won. He carried it out like he’d just scored the game-winning basket; the man was glowing brighter than the star on top.
Over the past two weeks, the kidnappers got ideas. They sat me on the secret swing over Donner Lake at sunset; Donner Lake looked like liquid gold and I almost forgave them for everything. Almost. Then it was off to Alibi Ale Works, where I chilled (literally) next to a row of frosty IPAs. Last stop of the night: a quick gavel-dip in the Truckee River. December water is NO JOKE, Cindy. My brass is still shivering.
Right now I’m stashed warmly under a Christmas blanket, staring at a crisp blue sky, wishing it would snow soon. The crew swears the second we get a decent dump they’re strapping tiny skis on me and sending me down a double black at Squaw. I’m not saying I’m scared… but I am a bell, not a bobsled.
I’m having the time of my life, honest. I love seeing everyone, love the laughs, love feeling the club spirit in every photo. But I miss you. I miss my soft velvet box and the way you always give me a little polish before meetings. I even miss the peace and quiet in your presence.
Remember the deal, Madam President: write us a poem or you could choose a favorite story or child's book to read. Do that magical thing you do, and I’ll come racing home faster than Hoop running for raffle tickets. The club is ready, I’m ready, and my velvet bed is ready.
Until then, save me some leftover pie.
With all my brassy love and a slightly frozen gavel,
Your Bell
(xoxo)
Oh, and PS, here's a link to the photos of my travels so far. https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1QNpl5vClg56AED7IeK9sTZU0Rk8lmfU5?usp=sharing
