Greetings dear ones recent and ancient,
We had dinner the other night with some family-friends that we have known since our kids were in preschool together. (It occurs to me that “family-friends” is a phrase that is rarely used in writing but used often in conversation.) We are not consistently in each other’s lives - social media means we get glimpses at the various highs and lows of each other’s day-to-day but we haven’t been in a room together since pre-pandemic - but we used to spend huge amounts of time in each other’s company, and from our wine-soaked math, this extreme-closeness was centered on a cluster of formative years more than a decade ago.
We call friends like this “old friends” and if they are people that belonged to our older generation “family-friends” - but one of the amusements of the night was that three of the people at the table were no longer babies but new adults. The “kids” had a strange, deep connection in that they remembered each other from childhood, but were also meeting for the first time with interests and incipient careers.
Meanwhile, the less young at the table ended up rekindling the deep connection that was so constant when we hung out regularly, 10-12 years ago. This hard-to-define feeling of “Wow, I really like spending time with these people.” It’s almost like time-travel. The conversation ran as freely as the wine, the laughter was plentiful, the food extravagant and perfect, and in general it was a joy-filled night full of genuine grins.
How beautiful are the connections that we forge and do not break. Like rediscovering in adulthood a treasured memento that we hid as a teen to keep safe. The memories flood in like a breeze into a stuffy room. You feel physically lighter.
What, exactly, is the invisible weight that can be lifted by eagerly listening to what a friend has been doing for the last ten years? Why can’t we remove it alone?
All of us have gone through so much living in the last ten years—isn’t it incredible to have the opportunity to allow the part of ourselves that was a little less wise, a little less fragile, a little more frivolous and carefree, creative and silly, to take charge for a while, piloting the vessel that is our human body, letting it breathe easy as we fearlessly glide through memories and old times…
Writing News:
For those of you who can’t get enough of my cross-genre fiction, the anthology Tumbled Tales is now available on Amazon both in e-book and paperback format. It’s a cool mix of all sorts of blended genre stories. Published by Wandering Wave Press it contains a story of mine that is not included in my collection A FLASH OF DARKNESS.
A big huge hug to the 21 of you that have already posted reviews on Amazon. I am so grateful!!! (also it was a delight since many of you, you know who are, are glider-friends. I was so happy to see your names & your reviews after all this time seeing you only on Social Media. I’m so glad to know that you read this newsletter & follow my work. I hope to have a big party some day to get us all together in the same room again, because the smiles, my friends, feel so good when they’re this connected to memory.)
If you have read the book and not yet posted an Amazon review - the magic number is 25 reviews….click here to help me out!
I buried the lede. There’s a teaser video for the gorgeous Kafka Cafe book launch party. You have to watch it. First of all: it’s amazing. Second of all, my kid made it!
Watch here. (under 2 minutes) And please please share!
Random Final Thought:
First off: I have the coolest readership. This response to “what happens to the pressurized water behind a tap” is from a wonderful New Yorker who lives a lot in Australia, an actress who has since added visual artist to her long list of talents:
The pressurized water is stored in the water tanks on older apartment roofs - the only family to make them is named Wacht and are replaced in more modern buildings with reservoirs and power pumps. The water is just waiting to spring forth from your pipes just behind the tap!!! Pressure released in buildings without tanks rise 3-5 stories; without power you can't flush a toilet or take a shower. I remember a blackout or 2 the city suffered, hauling water to my auntie on the 11th floor on 15th street and inviting friends to our 3rd floor bath with complimentary towels and wine!
People know things!!!
And as for your random piece of amusement, this sign was seen in the Village - hope it gives you the same laugh it gave me: