Alive

Last night, MSF and I found ourselves at 10 p.m. at the Brattle Theatre, drinking beer and eating super-buttery popcorn and watching Cameron Crowe's documentary Pearl Jam 20 -- a celebration of the band's longevity since coming up during the grunge revolution of the 1990s.

Pearl Jam's first-ever released single from 1990, Alive, was the climactic end of the film.....writhing under a montage of live concert footage.  Even though the song is Eddie Vedder's lament about the pain he felt in not knowing his deceased father -- and hardly meant to be uplifting when written -- I was mesmerized by the intensity and the countless iterations of the phrase,

"Hey, Oh, I, I'm Still Alive."

Which is kinda how I've been feeling this week. Appropos.

Happiness is ...

... coming home from a day at work and a 4-mile run to find homemade soup cooking on the stove.

It's good to have company.

20-minute Monday: (Almost) 20 miles

The Man from San Francisco and I went to a party Saturday night where both hosts and many other folks were runners and, after a couple of home-brewed porters, we were all sharing the idiosyncracies of our Reach the Beach teams from last weekend and whatever it is we're training for now and how any run this weekend was bound to suck with the 180% humidity non-seasonal to Northeast Septembers, so I shared how earlier in the day I had powered through 18.5 of my 20.5 miles before first struggling through to 19 and then tanking and walking the last mile uphill into Southie while wringing out a tank top and shorts plastered like magnets to my stomach and thusly creating an honest-to-God trail of sweat puddles along West 3rd Street, and after I said this all the folks nodded sympathetically because, yeah, it did kinda suck to run on Saturday, but I had no sympathy for my lack of mental and physical stamina at 5 weeks to race time and am glad for a second shot at a 20 in 2 weeks when maybe October will be a little more distance-runner friendly, and also was not sorry for myself because I got to spend that last mile of walking knowing that the MSF was sleeping off his red-eye flight while waiting in my air conditioned apartment and that, once I returned and stretched and drank Powerade and showered and and found a dry shirt, we were going to vegetate in that AC in long-awaited companionship and, at least for me, a rare reward.

Weekend forecast

Oh.

The
weather looks crappy.

The
(purported) 20-mile run
(in crappy weather)
daunting.

(Scroll down to see....)

And
I've a floor to scrub before I sleep.

But
I've got bag of fall vegetables.

And
a pound of fresh coffee beans.

And
clean sheets.

And
a guest from the west coast
arriving tomorrow,
same time as the sun
(we won't see anyway).

Bring it on.

R.I.P. R.E.M.

Yeah, so R.E.M. retired yesterday, and yeah, I'm joining the nostalgia club.

(P.S.  This song.  As of today. Is my new favorite.  I swear.)

But only because I grew up in a time when my rock-n-roll knowledge came from watching Night Tracks on SuperStation WTBS every couple Friday nights, and MTV wasn't easily available, and there was no Internet-streaming radio or YouTube and we lived 2 hours from any cool radio station, for years only exposed to twang country and the Best Light-Rock Hits of the 60s, 70s and Today.

Then I went to college and made it to my junior year in 1993 and joined the newspaper staff. Alan was the editor and he ran the CD player on production nights and little else but Nirvana's Nevermind and R.E.M. got played that whole year. Alan owned all their CDs, but Automatic for the People had just come out the year before and it became the newsroom favorite ... even as none of us knew what any of the songs were actually trying to say. Alan, as a (now-reformed) music snob and self-proclaimed taste arbiter, once bluffed, "Yeah, I'd figure that of all their albums that would be the one you'd like because it's the most commercial."

Who gave a shit? Along with Out of Time, Automatic for the People got me through my junior year and my senior year and several years after and "Everybody Hurts" is still the world's greatest anthem to get and stay depressed to. An obsession and appreciation for the syncopated cello riffs on Sweetness Follows didn't come until just last year. And who can forget that aching piano cadence (learned and repeated endlessly, natch) on Nightswimming..... which, once titillating to a college student who couldn't imagine ever having the guts to skinny-dip and who now appreciates so many R.E.M. songs from so many different albums she's not going to get into listing them, is 20 years later still one of the Best. Songs. Ever.

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night.
The photograph on the dashboard,
taken years ago,
Turned around backwards
so the windshield shows.
Every streetlight reveals
the picture in reverse.
Still, it's so much clearer.
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge.
The moon is low tonight.

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night.
I'm not sure all these people understand.
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water.
They cannot see me naked.
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday.

Nightswimming, remembering that night.
September's coming soon.

I'm pining for the moon.
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
That bright, tight forever drum
Could not describe nightswimming.

You, I thought I knew you.
You I cannot judge.
You, I thought you knew me,
this one laughing quietly
underneath my breath.
Nightswimming.

The photograph reflects,
Every streetlight a reminder.
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night,
deserves a quiet night

Mulling singleness, longevity

Have I told y'all that before moving to Boston in 1999, I worked 4 years as the features reporter for the Pipestone County Star, in the small town of the same name in southwest Minnesota?   (Using the term y'all gives me away as a Midwesterner, right...?!) 

I'm sure I have.

My main beat at the Star was covering the robust performing arts scene, community organizations, dairy and pork and corn-n-soybean farmers, and the non-stop activities and recognitions at 3 elementaries and 1 high school.   Took endless photos of kids standing in rows, the community chorus with open mouths and hands outstretched, the Chamber of Commerce director shaking hands with new business owners.  Made lots of trips into barns for photos of pigs and cows.  One spring when the Star was down a sports reporter, I documented the track, tennis and golf teams' exploits and wickedly improved my skills as a sports-action photographer and writer.   It's where I began a personal column, Thinking Aloud, which started me writing in the stream-of-consciousness style that presaged the tack I'd eventually take in this blog.

I loved what I did in Pipestone, except for the ulcer-inducing school board meetings to raise taxes for a new facility, and I loved my life there.   But it was during the 3rd time through the same annual cycle of activities -- Homecoming, Christmas tree lightings, blizzard photos, Prom, the Watertower Festival, the Hiawatha Pageant features -- that I realized it might be time to explore different horizons.

And look where exploring got me.

This morning over my coffee, I came across a New York Times article titled, "In a Married World, Singles Struggle for Attention":

"Here’s a September celebration you probably didn’t know about: It’s National Single and Unmarried Americans Week."

I knew it sounded familiar, then realized it's because I, naturally, documented this week's occasion in September 2010.  It was a relief to find that I hadn't also documented it in 2008 and 2009.

Funny, when I saw the Times article this morning, the intent was to delve into the content of that blog entry by Tara Parker-Pope.  Specifically, how true these paragraphs rang:

"'There is this push for marriage in the straight community and in the gay community, essentially assuming that if you don’t get married there is something wrong with you,' says Naomi Gerstel, a sociologist at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst who has published a number of papers comparing the married and unmarried.

"'But a huge proportion of the population is unmarried, and the single population is only going to grow. At the same time, all the movement nationally is to offer benefits to those who are married, and that leaves single people dry.'


"Yet as she and other experts note, single people often contribute more to the community — because once people marry, they tend to put their energy and focus into their partners and their own families at the expense of friendships, community ties and extended families."

And these:

"The unmarried also tend to be more connected with siblings, nieces and nephews. And while married people have high rates of volunteerism when it comes to taking part in their children’s activities, unmarried people often are more connected to the community as a whole. About 1 in 5 unmarried people take part in volunteer work like teaching, coaching other people’s children, raising money for charities and distributing or serving food.

"Unmarried people are more likely to visit with neighbors. And never-married women are more likely than married women to sign petitions and go to political gatherings, according to Dr. Gerstel."

And these:

"The pressure to marry is particularly strong for women. A 2009 study by researchers at the University of Missouri and Texas Tech University carried the title “I’m a Loser, I’m Not Married, Let’s Just All Look at Me.” The researchers conducted 32 interviews with middle-class women in their 30s who felt stigmatized by the fact that they had never married.

" 'These were very successful women in their careers and their lives, yet almost all of them felt bad about not being married, like they were letting someone down,' said Lawrence Ganong, a chairman of human development and family studies at the University of Missouri.

"'If a person is happy being single,' he said, 'then we should support that as well."

Anyway. I'm pretty OK with being single in the city ... it has its benefits.  Other than my wistful 93-y-old Grandma, no one is pressuring me to get married.  I'll probably still go to political gatherings this season as long as my quease-factor stays in check.  And it's a good article (thank you, Tara, who is also a marathon runner).   Since I've now just quoted about half of it, feel free to decide, without my input, how you might feel about the conclusions.

I, on the other hand, have been freshly reminded of the time I have put into this blog -- 870 posts and 3.5 spins through the news cycle -- and am seriously wondering if it is time to explore different horizons.

Pros & Cons

Last night starting at 9:45 p.m., I spent 2 hours getting my life in order via visits to Home Depot, Target and Stop & Shop at the South Bay Center in Dorchester.  I could do this at this hour because I live in a large city and there are retail stores open until 11 and all-night supermarkets.

Last night starting at 11:45 p.m., I spent 30 minutes trying to find the One Available Parking Spot In All Southie.  There were evidently Zero.   In my 5 years here I have never not been able to park on a Monday night.  In this perfect storm, it seems, the combination of massive utility work on W 1st Street and the Tuesday 5-7 am street-cleaning signs on Broadway meant all vehicles on these 2 major thoroughfares were vomited onto side streets. 

While waiting at a stoplight, I texted Man from San Francisco:

K (12:06 am): For 20 minutes now i have been crusing for a parking space .... This f#*$ing neighborhood ...
MSF (12:07):  ::Grraar!::
K (12:12): There are so many other things i'd rather be doing ...
MSF (12:14):  I can think of one or two ....
K (12:22, after finally scoring):  6 blocks away.  Down a hill. I see a large glass of wine in my near future.

Sleeping was among the other things i'd rather have been doing at that hour. Not buying cat litter. Not cruising. Not swearing. Not walking up Broadway in the dark by myself. Not, again, considering the truth of living in a large city: that the accessibility and public services that make it great also make it an insomniac-driven pain.

It's lunchtime on Monday ....

... and I can't focus for s***.

It's the truth, and a common one for the Monday after a 3.5-day weekend.

One thought pulling my brain in directions it shouldn't go:  that I haven't blogged since Thursday and don't foresee the focus to do so anytime soon.

Thusly, I've decided reconcile the truth and the dilemma by spitting out a list of random thoughts, like:

1) Just finished today's Lunch of Champions:  peach Chobani Greek yogurt mixed with raw oatmeal, followed by baby carrots dipped in Jif. 

2) I am now officially hungry all the time (thanks, marathon training). Already trying to not think about what to have for a snack and when to have it.

3) My quadriceps are still demolished from the combination of driving the 15-person van (too much accelerator pressing?), the brisk cold, and the 20 miles of  Legs 10, 21 and 32 during Reach the Beach through rural New Hampshire Friday and Saturday.

4) I still wish I had gotten a photo at 6:25 Saturday morning around mile 5.5 of Leg 21 on Stage Road outside of Gilmanton when, following a taxing 500-foot elevation climb past cows and farms and frost-covered grasses, the sun came over the horizon to light the misty mountains and valleys like an Ansel Adams print, as if a reward for putting myself through hell first.

5)  Being tired and sore this morning, it's a relief to see the President playing a bit of hardball on tax increases so I don't have to be cranky about intransigent Republicans, as well.

6) Can I convey that if hamstrings and quadriceps could speak, they would tell me that they simply cannot wait for a power yoga class at 7 p.m. .... Monday, move faster please!

7)  I wiped down the shelves in my refrigerator last night for the first time in 5 years. They were gross; now they are not. That is all.

8) Did I tell y'all the the Man from San Francisco is coming to visit?  That he'll be here for 8 days starting on Saturday?  Guess I'm telling you now.  I strongly suggest he and I are both looking forward to it.

9) It seems to be autumn now in these parts.  Bring it.

10) How did I let 2 years pass in forgetting that WERS radio streams live online and is the perfect get-back-to-work-on-Monday-when-rather-would-be-doing-just-about-anything-else music soundtrack?  Rock on. 

(And work on ..... )

A (sort of) Good Poem

There once was a girl
Who had great intentions
Of a great Thursday blogpost

But who was instead
consumed by
work (really!) and
getting ready to leave for
Reach the Beach Relay
(her 5th occasion of)
and ended up with
nothing to say and
no time to say it.

So, instead
she will
just post
a photo of the
Bubbly Sex Pot

(at Prohibition in downtown MSP)
and the
(inebriated) feet
of the 6 girls
who drank 2 of them
and lived to tell the tale.

(She realized it had been a
good party and
she'd never
told you about it.
You can guess
which one is her,
if you want.)

And
she'll see you again
on Sunday
(20 miles o'running
worse, or better,
for the wear).

Imaginary (donkey of) love

Chomping on a tuna sandwich and reading Love Letters on my lunch break, I got sucked into a sidebar conversation thread titled "Facebook nonsense".  It began on August 23, with a a post from:

-- A woman who friends an artist whose creative work she admires and feels mirrors her own;  she visits and commented on his FB page. He responds and comments on her comments.

-- The two begin flirtatiously texting/e-mailing relationship; they don't live in the same city so they don't meet, but they soon have a phone call that leads to (the woman's) enormous hopes.

--  He drops off the face.

-- She's convinced she's screwed up something good, big-time, and apologizes. He says she has nothing to apologize for and wants to remain friends.

-- But their friendship has changed and seems, now, not destined for anything greater. She's, in her words, "bereft" over what could have been:

"You know, prolly wishful thinking on my part, but last week I really felt that this man and I could pull something together. I can't think of what I could possibly have said to have turned him off. But I won't bug him, I won't nudge him..."

If you've read this blog at all before today, you of course know this type of What Did I Do WRONG?!!!!! thinking has had its place here on too many occasions.  Which is why I cringed viscerally at the resemblance to situations of past. Cringed reading through the 90 subsequent posts on the thread after her above self-admonition ("I won't nudge him...") stretching until yesterday. Even as other commenters advised her to move on, she continued stating admiration for her artist, the reasons why she thought she still wanted to be with him, and berating herself for holding out hope.

It took until today for her to say, "OK. I blocked his profile. Gotta let it go." But it took 3 weeks.

Not chastising this woman at all. Just understanding it (after all, it took me 9 months...) and marveling, again, how we humans get into draining situations that we can't see don't benefit us and, really, have no desire to get out of.

Somewhere on the thread, the woman posted a link to the British advice blog Baggage Reclaim, specifically to a 2009 column on "Letting Go Of A Relationship That Doesn't Exist":

"There are two big questions hovering in the comments recently that pretty much amount to the same thing:

How do I let go of the guy that didn’t reciprocate my feelings?

How do I let go of the guy that I didn’t actually have a relationship with?

In essence, how do you let go of a one-sided attraction which in your mind has created a relationship out of…your feelings?"

The blog author, Natalie Lue, is a prolific tough-love talker. In fact, she's written 2 books on the topic (one titled Mr. Unavailable and the Fallback Girl) in addition to this blog that has been ongoing since 2005).  Her thoughts on "Letting Go Of A Relationship That Doesn't Exist" are countless, but these lines specifically spoke to me:

"For a start, you can’t ‘break up’ when there is nothing to break up from. The only person you have to break up with is you and your rather overactive imagination and feelings ....

"The thing is, from the moment that you recognise that you 1) are not having your feelings reciprocated and/or 2) that you’re not in a relationship with them, major warning signals should be going to your brain that there is something seriously wrong if you are still trying to get them to reciprocate and obsessing about them over an extended period of time ....

"Whilst I recognise that in some instances, we can be misled by a guy to believe that he feels more than he does, I tend to find that women who are in this situation are invariably in it because they decided that they were crazy about someone and don’t want to let that, and the fantasy go ....

"You’ve decided that you want him, love him, and to hell with it, you’ll find a way to show him that he should notice and love you too. You’re gonna ride this imaginary donkey of love till it collapses."

Wow.  Can't think of a better way to describe making an ass of one's self and self-esteem.  :-) 

(Good to remember the next time, if ever, I get another gander at C-2.)

20-Minute Monday: Invincibility

Looking out over my right shoulder tonight, as we flew higher than the piled-up thunderheads, and struck yet again by the miracle of flight: our human ability to be up among this planet's highermost creations and how seemingly blithely we do this ... hopping to Minneapolis for the weekend, no big deal, just a chance to see cousins and nephews (getting older and changing every minute just like the rest of us). So easily done when there so many things in the world so difficult.

How is it that flying -- being higher than thunderstorms, God-like -- has become such a mundane, everyday thing?

Now we're making a wide-right turn past the east edge of greater Boston and out over the Atlantic, approaching as one always does at Logan, above (and in spite of) powerful ocean waves below. Spotlit ballfields in the dusk. Freeways filled with cars as big as ants, their perceived size completely belying the lives, anxieties, dramas and goodnesses within each one. Lights of the metro spreading out in a vastness all made possible by human invention, too.

It's a day in this country that, out of necessity, overflows with introspection and demands to evaluate the present and its shaping by the past and how we, as humans, live with and hurt each other not only in the most henious ways but the most ordinary, in grievance and in compassion, in selfishness and in altruism. 

Touching down now ... ripped suddenly from lofty vantage. Introspection seems more difficult when dealing with mundane issues of luggage collection, bus rides, the making of mental notes for a new Monday and the week ahead with its attendant complexities and uncertainities both tactile and vague. Despite being idealistic and financially unreasonable, it would seem easier, somehow, to just ride the air currents non-stop in the unimaginable insularity (and relative safety?) of an airplane, figuring it all out from a remove.

 
Sunday, September 11, 2011 (7:32-7:52 pm)

Aboard Sun Country 257 (MSP to BOS)

Fri-day Par-tay

What
with
more market tanking (hooray!)
and
more obstinate political discord (no way!)
and
more flooding (damn hurricane season)
and
more terrorist threats (anniversaries, schmaniversaries),

it's
a relief
to see
the sun
and some
blue-sky
relief
this afternoon.

Seems appropriate that came
just as I'm
to get on a plane to MSP
and hang with
Cousin J
in celebration of her
wedding-to-be.

(She and I have always been
great partiers, natch.)
 


Oct 2002 -- Minneapolis
Red Zin in HS prom goblets 

Jan 2009 -- Washington DC
Inauguration meltdown

May 2011 - Columbia Heights, MN
Afternoon delight (w/Kristin & Missy)

Besides.

Haven't been to a
bachelorette party
in ages.

See ya on the other side...

Laugh. (Because, what else?)

This is how my day started:

1)  Get up extra early for a dentist appointment before work.

2)  Drive (instead of preferred bike) to dentist because of buckets'o'rain falling from the sky.

3)  Encounter standstill traffic (because of the early hour and the buckets'o'rain) to get on 93N, to get on Storrow Drive from 93N, and to get off Storrow Drive.

4)  Pay for meter directly in front of dentist office, due to being 15 minutes late due to standstill traffic.

5)  Apologize profusely to front desk staff for being 15 minutes late.

6)  Discover appointment was actually yesterday.

7)  Apologize profusely to hygienist, reschedule for her next available (November 15).

8)  Hear front desk staff mock (yes! they did!) my profuse apologies as I head out, 2 minutes later, with wet head from previous downpour, to collect car from the meter spot paid for an hour.

9)  Park car in more convenient location, walk 4 blocks to work, only to enjoy the continuing downpour while waiting a full minute to cross the St. James/Clarendon wind tunnel.

10) Sit at desk in air-conditioned comfort with wet legs, wet socks, wet head and potential tooth decay.

Later in the morning (to the great benefit of me and anyone else who was going to have to deal with my brilliant mood today) I came across a humor blog called Happy Place, which had just updated its ongoing list of "Brilliantly Sarcastic Responses to Well-Meaning Signs."  Here are 2 of many:

Which made me do that thing at work we all do, which is wanting to laugh uproariously and realizing there are very few things happening in work life that seriously warrant laughing uproariously .... so I can't, because I would give away the fact that I am looking at something inappropriate .... and then trying to stifle my laughter, which in turn makes me start snorting and gasping and, generally, making worse noise than I would have if just f#$%ing LOL'd.

Man.  That felt good. 

Wanting to share the good vibe and the belly laugh, I e-mailed the link to a friend.  He, in turn, shared a link back, this one to The Oatmeal and more specifically, "What we SHOULD have been taught in our senior year of high school".  Here's one of the panels:

This time, I just LOL'd. 

(Thank you very much.)

Farewell to (a necessary) evil

I've been in mourning these past weeks:   Jakki, the kick-ass instructor for my weekly weight-lifting class, the kicker-of-my-wimpy-ass on every Tuesday afternoon for the past 18 months is no longer teaching at my gym after today.

It's said that the best are always the first to leave and, well....  Seriously.   Jakki gets full credit for any and all muscle tone I own.  Relentless, demanding, creative, fun, aggravating, goading, with a buff physique only attributable to doing everything she's doling out, and -- oh, yeah -- evil.

As in, the first time I went to her class in November 2009, I. Hated. Her:

"On my gym's website, Jakki's bio states that she enjoys challenging participants with a safe but intense workout. "My favorite part of teaching isn’t the music or the exercises, it’s the smile I see when people leave class feeling better about themselves and more confident to take on a new challenge…maybe another class!”

What Jakki's bio didn't say: "I like to stride around the room when you're on the 13th minute of the 15-minute non-stop abdominal workout and shout out, 'I know what I'm asking you to do is evil. Who thinks I'm evil?! I don't hear you! Who thinks I'm evil! You will thank me later! You will!"

I'm thanking her now ... with fond regret.

20-minute Monday: Gluttony

Walking down Elm Street tonight, into the center of Davis Square, I was trying to imagine how I would reflect back on a night like this. One of my best friends is at the hospital with his wife, preparing for their daughter to be born. Earlier, I both cleaned out my clothes closet for the first time in a year and still found time for yoga in Thomas Park in a gusty wind, with storm clouds threatening.


Made veggie curry in the crockpot, too. Go figure.

Now, I've got the Times sports section in front of me -- Nadal at the Open! -- and a fragrant bourbon, mint and ginger concoction to my left here at the bar. I just ate some Jonah crab claws and a BBQ chicken sandwich with apple coleslaw and fries. (Kind of but not really saving room for when Student Driver and I meet for ice cream later.) As I've been eating and drinking, the Man from San Francisco and I are texting images back and forth as if we were dining together: he's seen my cocktail and claws; I've seen his crusty sourdough, cheese spread, TCHO citrus dark chocolate and Big Daddy IPA, as clear as if it were in front of me and not 3100 miles to the west. We're calling these messages "food porn." I seem to have forgotten the potential sensuality of this medium, until now.

Everything about this day just seems right. The luxury in the good joy of friends, in the occasional gluttony, in girlfriends to talk shit with and boys to talk food with, in thunderstorms threatened but not materializing, and in (what I think I've deduced now as) relief at the forecast of a rewarding September, making short work of whatever past gloom has pervaded this so-called last day of summer.

Monday, September 5 (9:16-9:36 p.m.)
Davis Square, Somerville

Eleven-o'clock run...

... on a Sunday night
of a 3-day weekend
at the start

of a new (school) year,
through the streets
of the downtown
of a college town,

is

a cool breeze and
no homework yet,
the pure smell of hormones
and too many girls
waiting in line at
too many bars
and looking
too young
to be facing down
bouncers that big
and wearing
heels that high.

And brother,
do I feel old.

One afternoon at the farmer's market....

.....when I felt like crying

(can't really even say why I did,

but knew I needed to),

I lay on my back in the grass in Copley Square

and did.

Then I looked up at my workplace

and realized,

that even though it felt good to

(and I must have indeed needed to),

there is no need to cry

when the sky is this blue.

Mild vindication

It wasn't yet officially summer the last time I saw (and kissed) or spoke to C-2. We've exchanged a couple brief e-mails and texts since then, pertaining to Guinness consumption and progressively Democratic political campaigns, but even those have ceased. Our day-to-day, mid-night exhortations from a past life are long gone. I've gotten fine with this fact. Which is why I was surprised Wednesday when:

(2:53 AM) C-2: mornin'

Which took me until that evening, after 3 glasses of white wine, to notice and respond with:

(10:12 PM) Karin: I missed your hello. How are you?

(10:29 PM) C-2: Hey, I'm good. Moving again. Wanna help?? :)

You of course recall what I helped him with 6 months ago was to move a thousand miles away, after which I cried for a week. As a Facebook friend, I have since seen in more detail that the move he's making is not back to here.

(10:38 PM) K: You know me. A couple shots of whiskey, a plane ticket, and I'm good for whatever. ;-) Good that you're good.

(12:57 AM) C-2: That's one of your more endearing qualities! :)

I'm glad C-2 wrote, because I thought we had trailed off for good. Which would have been OK, and is still OK. But to be the egotist I am, sometimes it's good to know someone I once cared about thinks about me with something akin to fondness.