I’m touched, humbled, and a little embarrassed by how many of you reached out to me this week. Whether it was by email, telephone, morse code, or carrier pigeon, each message warmed my snowy Wisconsin heart. I received no less than six Christmas invitations, including one from Canada that made me cry. I love you all.
Platonic love is a difficult thing for me to express. I don’t know how to tell you all how often I think of you, how I cheer for you, how I sometimes even pray for you, to some unknown god or goddess who may in fact be nothing more than a wind chime on my neighbor’s porch. I compose love sonnets and thank you notes while walking to the bus, but I never send them, do I?
Yes, even to you. I never send them.
The past week has been topsy-turvy in every sense of the word. I thought I was dreaming when I was awake, and awake when I was dreaming. Everything felt upside-down and opposite and I couldn’t have found North if I’d been holding a compass.
A sampling of the past week’s activities, in no particular order:
And that, my friends, is the maximum number of details you are getting on any of the above. For more info, please see my Hollywood Tell-All, set to publish in 2029.
Monday night was spent trudging through snowy embankments with one of my Most Important People. Our breath came out in puffs of smoke, burning our lungs and creating cloud formations in the air.
We passed a palm readers’ shop on a busy downtown street and she asked me if I believed. I told her I thought it was more about knowing how to listen.
“I’d like to believe it’s real,” she said, with that childlike enthusiasm I find so infectious in her, and so inspiring. She pulled her scarf a little tighter as we crossed the street. “It would be nice to live in a magical world.”
I smiled to myself as we weaved through the snowy cars and the patches of ice. I felt an almost overwhelming urge to grab her mittened hand and squeeze it.