January 5 Reading at the Writer's Center

I'm hosting a reading at the Writer's Center in Bethesda, Maryland, to celebrate my 60th birthday on January 5. The reading begins at 2 pm and cake and goodies follow.

Please attend and bring your friends!

The theme is epiphanies . . . not only because James Joyce made a big deal about them, but also because turning 60 is, well, the amazement of a lifetime. I'm sure I'll have some deep thought to share on the actual day. And if I don't, I'll have lots of friends around to launch me into my next decade.

Right now readers include (tentatively) Bill O'Sullivan, Ginnie Hartman, Riggin Waugh, and Judith Witherow, Cindy Lollar, Mary Beth Hatem, and of course me.

This is a celebration so the readings will be short (about 3 minutes each).

Time Passes . . .

So much has happened in the past weeks -- August, September, October flashing by faster than you can say Jack Frost or read O. Henry's "The Last Leaf."

Let's face it, Summer is over. And out on the deck in the back yard, it's impossible to sit for more than 5 minutes without announcing, "Hey, I'm freezing."

And we all know, at least those of us who don't live year round in Mexico, that we're in for a lot more cold as we descend into earlier and earlier darkness and pray for the Winter Solstice to bring back the light.

One Minute You're There, Then You're Gone

Summer's over, but I'm still thinking about my trip to Narragansett and P'town in July.

When I arrived at the Anchor Motel across from Scarborough State Beach near Galilee the first news I heard was the story of a man who was swooped into the ocean by some kind of freak wave.

Standing in knee deep water right near the shore with two small children, the man lost his footing and disappeared underwater.

The children were saved by some adults standing nearby. But they couldn't save the man.

Stories like these amaze me every time I hear about them. I mean no one ever expects to be plucked out of existence in the blink of an eye.

But my mother and father taught my sisters and brother and me to never take the ocean for granted. And always be careful. I taught my own children the same thing.

We can't worry about every little thing, but we can learn some basic safety rules. OK, I'm channeling my father right now! And my mother is right beside him saying, "Ted, tell her to give the information about rip tides."

Oh, and while I'm at it, I'll remind you about John Irving's "undertoad," from The World According to Garp.

Remember the undertoad? The following week, at Herring Cove Beach in Provincetown, I read the Rip Tide Warning posted to the bulletin board near the hot dog stand.

And I'm posting it here because it's something we beach lovers all should know. I'm surprised the warning includes "Learn how to swim," and "never swim alone."

The sign says, if you're caught in a rip current:

• Don't fight the current
• Swim out of the current, then to shore
• If you can't escape, float or tread water
• If you need help, call or wave for assistance

Ah Provincetown, What a Wonder

It takes a while to get out there (or is it up there?), but Provincetown is a wonder to behold.

Standing on the shore at Herring Cove Beach, you can see whales swimming by, watch children play, and get an unforgettable sunburn if you just happen to forget your sunscreen.

More is coming . . . stay tuned!

Something about New Orleans

About a year ago, I flew to New Orleans for a few days for work. I had some time to explore the French Quarter, and I noticed that many houses and even restaurants have little gardens in their backyards.

As you can see from the photo, it's cool and easy back here. Easy to sit down, easy to watch the bricks stay in place with no effort at all.

And it's easy to appreciate time standing still for a little while.

There's a graciousness here . . . even after the Katrina devastation. I'm sure many more people are heading back to NOLA this year.

The city was still a ghost town back then. Not far from where I took this photo, I had my palm read. She said things would be getting better for me real soon. I must have looked a little tired or maybe that beignet and coffee left me feeling a little impatient as she shuffled the cards over and over again and watched me settle into her miniature lawn chair.

When it was my turn to ask a question, I couldn't think of one thing I wanted to know in advance. So I asked, "Does it ever cool down around here?"

She nodded. "Stick around for a couple of months. You'll see . . ."

On the Road . . .

Well, this coming week, it's on the road up to Provincetown and the Fine Arts Work Center for a week of poetry with poet Cleopatra Mathis and many other writers and artists.

Don't tell anybody that I picked the workshop because her name was "Cleopatra." I figure when I'm 90 I can freak out my great-grandchildren by telling them I studied poetry with Cleopatra. Think glittering barges on the Nile.

I got a little nervous when I found out we were supposed to bring a copy of the Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry but my friend Cynthia assured me that this won't really be a "class."

I sure hope so.

Cynthia is my best friend from high school. We reconnected when we both decided to skip Classical High School's multi-decade reunion, and we found out that we're both writing poetry.

And yes, of course we have day jobs (for now).

She and her hubby actually have a summer house right in P'town. And this will be our first class together in years and years and years since we were both working on the senior play, "What a Life!". I'm lucky I have friends who love poetry.

Last year at FAWC, my workshop was with Gail Mazur, a poet recommended by my dear friend and brother in spirit Richard McCann. I wrote a long poem one morning about my dad's passing that April.

That class included 8 or 9 other women who wrote wonderful poems that week, including my long-time pal, Riggin.

I love being in New England, and I'm looking forward to driving up there with Riggin, an amazing writer and long-time pardner in literary crimes. She published three of my stories in an anthology she edited in 2003. Actually she's working on getting her Web site up sometime very soon.

Riggin thinks my family tried to poison her on one trip up there for my dad's 80th birthday bash in June 2000.

We arrived late, and she ate some steamers from a bowl on the big picnic table in my sister Vanessa's backyard. Unfortunately those clams had been out there in the sun for a while.

We won't talk about what happened in the next 4 hours. Ick.

That year we were heading for a week of writing on Block Island with a bunch of writer friends. One of those dear ones has since passed on -- Joan Dickenson, a brilliant writer and columnist from upstate New York.

Now there's a woman who should be famous . . . and she will some day.

Lemur Appreciation Society of America

Dear Ones,

I wanted to let you know about LASOA, the Lemur Appreciation Society of America.

A fledgling group of concerned lovers of these leaping tree creatures, LASOA started up a couple of years ago when a couple of local writers had been working way too hard.

And right now, we still have the same number of members as we did in the beginning -- three. The President, me (Meredith), the Vice President, Rebecca, and of course you, Pondling, in absentia.

When I think of lemurs I think of you, although your tail is not quite so curly, is it?

These LASOA leaders are not to be confused with the actual presidents or vice presidents of any first world or third world countries.

Sadly, no one I know is sure there really is a second world. But I expect wherever it might be, you'll find it stuck between two shifting continental plates about a mile underground.