Last week, I signed up for a remote silent reading party hosted by the Stranger, a Seattle-based publication. I’d never heard of such a thing, but apparently this goes on all the time in Seattle: people gather at a local hotel, and they read silently together while a pianist provides background music. Continue reading
Yes, friends, it’s true: I shall reach the exalted age of sixty soon. Very soon. Very.
Recently, I watched an episode of “Sex and the City” in which Charlotte announced that she was not going to turn 36 on her birthday because “I’m just not where I thought I’d be at 36, so I’m sticking at 35.” Granted, she was in a tough spot: her marriage had crumbled under the stress of infertility, and her efforts to resume the career she’d paused for babymaking had proven fruitless. Still, it set me to wondering: am I where I thought I’d be at 60? Continue reading