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Sophie on the upper deck of the Staten Island Ferry. The boat is a Coast Guard vessel, one of two that escorted the SIF back and forth. A machine gun is mounted in the bow manned by a member of the Coast Guard. I'm posting this because, for me, it's a disconcerting image--the 4 year old . . . . machine gun ("What's that, Grammie?" she innocently asked.) . . . the Statue of Liberty.What do you think? Before boarding the ferry we had visited the marvelous National Museum of American Indians & seen a moving performance piece, "Keeping the Fire in the Dark Moon Times," infused with the oral tradition, dance and music of the home regions of five performers--Ani Lokomaikai Lipscomb, Hawaiian; Debra Dommek, Inupiaq; Stephen Blanchett, Central Yup'ik; Candida Rose, Cape Verdean; and Jonathan Perry, Wampanoag. According to the program, the piece honors ancestral stories and the diverse symbolism of the moon, its cycles and the many meanings of harvest.We ended our Sophie/Grammie-Day by attending New York Philharmonic's rehearsal for the "Very Young People's Concert." Very cool, although Sophie noted that the narrator of a kids' story told to the music of Ravel mispronounced narwhal (she put an "e" on the end.) "That's what rehearsal are for," I whispered back. We had to leave before the storyteller finished. But we talked to a staff person before we left. "I wondered about that," she said. Then repeated (correctly): "Narwhal, narwhal, narwhal!" Sophie and I smiled!
This weekend we gathered in the Catskill at a house Steve and Sarah are renting as a writing retreat to celebrate Steve's & David's birthday. So serene! Amazingly quiet. Pristine snow. Clear dark night sky perfect for identifying constellations-- Sophie knew to look for the Big and Little Dipper; Orion; Pegasus; "the queen," Casseopia; and the Milky Way because of a wonderful nonfiction book for kids her "Auntie" Jan Kristo sent for her birthday in December (Tomorrow's a Sophie-day & I'll check the title when I pick her up.)
With March and National Women's History Month arriving on Saturday, I am preparing PowerPoint presentations & speeches for five engagements (listed on my web site). As always, one of my themes is women's history is everywhere & sure enough there it was in a remote memorial park to John Burroughs, the great naturalist who was raised in Roxbury, the closest town to where we were staying. Steve drove us there to see the photographs on the 3-sided display. The close-up is a photograph of a mule trip down Bright Angel Trail in the Grand Canyon in 1909. On the mules, from bottom to top are: Dr. Clara Barrus, Harriet Ashley, John Burroughs, Olga Brant, John Muir. Do I know who the women are? Not yet because I've been immersed in Stirring Up The World & teaching, but ASAP I'll find out & post the information. Of course, if any of you know--please post an entry.
Continuing with this theme, on Monday I walked from 7th Ave to 5th Avenue along 34th street & Macy's Department Store and noted that a series of windows displays featured posters, art work, & information about Josephine Baker (1906-1975) US born, naturalized-French singer, dancer. movie star, social activist.
At about 6 a.m., I awoke to the sound of a neighbor's snow shovel. The weather predictions were correct! About 6 inches of snow & still falling & the bird feeders were empty. I put on my boots, grabbed a raincoat to wear over my nightgown and headed out to fill the feeders. The snowdrops, of course, were buried. The birds--cardinals, juncos, mourning doves, nut hatches, sparrows--had a feast.
My mother and snowdrops are inextricably joined in my heart and mind because one of my earliest childhood memories is the arrival of February in our snowy part of the country and my mother digging in the snow--oftentimes with her bare hands--looking for snowdrops.
"Spring," she'd tell me. "I'm looking for Spring."
This crazy-winter-weather year confused the snowdrops in my yard into appearing in November. Of course, I was glad to see them, but they were out-of-sync with my memories. So, today--in February--I was thrilled to see them back again.
Linda just appeared (from her office on the second floor down the stairs to mine in the basement) and asked me if I knew the definition of "secular." Of course, I did, and so did she, as in not being religious. What sent her down the stairs was how the word was used in an article she was reading for her class tomorrow about the prevalence of autism in which the author made a statement about the "secular increase of the prevalence of autism." Hummm, that use puzzled me too. While she checked my several dictionaries, I checked the Internet. Between us we found the meaning the author--who is Canadian--was using: "of or relating to a long term of indefinite duration." So, interesting!!!!
Unannounced the second pass pages for Thanksgiving: The True Story showed up on my doorstep Friday morning. (I found it when I went out to get the newspaper, so it may have been there since Thursday.) I stopped my plans for the day and scrutinized the manuscript so that I could return it before the day was over. I discovered this sentence had slipped by everyone who, to date, had proof read & copy edited the manuscript: "In late August 1565, ships carrying Menendez and hundreds of soldiers landed on the coast of Florida, and marched with trumpets blaring and banners flying into a Timucuan Indian village."
"Oh, no!!!" I exclaimed as the image of marching ships paraded in front of my eyes!!! Immediately I sent the editor an e-mail and corrected the sentence on the manuscript. As long as I've been a writer, it never ceases to amaze me how tricky it is to catch everything! So, what would I have done if it had slipped through into the printed book? Been embarrassed, recognize that readers would not necessarily noticed it, use it as an example when I teach/speak.
Next day update: At about 1:30 pm, 2/11, I received an e-mail from the assistant editor double-checking my change to what I will probably always think of as the "marching ship" sentence. Since at this stage, I had to make the least disruptive correction, I simply deleted "ships carrying" and changed "landed" to "arrived;" so now the sentence reads: "In late August 1565, Menendez and hundreds of soldiers arrived on the coast of Florida and marched with trumpets blaring and banners flying into a Timucuan Indian village." Oh, and if you're wondering what all this has to do with the true story of Thanksgiving; Menendez is involved in one of the 12 claims for the "first" Thanksgiving that I explore in my book Thanksgiving: The True Story.
I've moved forward writing Stirring Up The World and I'm really happy with what I've produced so far; it's such an intriguing story, especially with the race for the Democratic presidential nomination going on.
We had Sophie for an overnight. We rode a double-decker merry-go-round, etc. We also "talked" politics; from listening to all the political conversations swirling around she's concluded that "girls are for the girl and boys are for the boy."
Although it may seem that way, I told her, in our family some "girls" are for the "boy" and some "boys" are for the "girl."
One thing led to the other & yesterday Sophie (my 4 year old granddaughter) & I ended up at the ice skating rink at Chelsea Piers, the mammoth sports facility on the banks of the Hudson River in New York City. It has been close to thirty years since I last put on ice skates: Sophie never has.Being a sensibly cautious person (not one of my salient characteristics), Sophie finally put on her skates--after carefully observing everyone and everything & talking about the difference between ice over water that skaters could possibly fall through & ice over a hard surface--and off we went: the oldest and the youngest skaters in the rink. And, by oldest I mean by about 35 years! (Reread my earlier admission that "being a sensibly cautious person is not one of my salient characteristic" and you'll understand why I didn't wonder whether or not I'd remember how to skate; fortunately my muscles did.)We started out with Sophie holding onto the railing with one hand & my hand with the other. Being focused on managing my own skates so as not to fall or trip Sophie, I didn't try to teach her anything except to briefly explain about pushing with the toe of one skate and gliding on the other, or something like that. About half way around, we switched to her being about 3 or so feet in front of me and me holding both her hands. My strategy was to keep pace with her by pushing with my right foot. Her technique came from closely watching other people & imagining she was a horse pulling me. After about an hour of skating and brief breaks, I stumbled and fell taking Sophie down with me. I sprawled: she sat down, kerplunk! We weren't hurt, just surprised, although I must admit I was embarrassed when the "rink safety person" suddenly appeared to help me up (was my gray hair magnetic, I wondered). No harm done we were up and off again. Another round and I stumbled again--one foot, then the other. Yikes! I thought. Then, amazingly I found myself staying upright. Why? Because Sophie, who was skating in front & holding my hands, kept me steady. When we took a break, Sophie said, "Grammie, I held you up." "Yes, you saved me from falling. How did you know to do that?" "I felt you stumble again & held you up," she matter-of-factly replied.
Start what? Writing! Yesterday I took these pictures of the pingpong table in my basement office (not to worry, I'm not a complete mole, there are windows that face the bird feeders and sunset, although it is chilly!). The point of these pictures is how easy it is to get overwhelmed with material, especially with the amount of primary source material available via the Internet--yikes! From left to right: the brown with a pink stripe object is the 3-ring notebook in which I keep completed manuscript pages (I write and revise as I go, aiming for producing final copy.); there a couple of books on & under the notebook that I'm using for double-checking; a 1,000 piece puzzle is under the notebook--periodically working on the puzzle keeps me from solidifying in my chair and helps me focus; more books(many from the stacks at the Columbia University library--see early blog for picture of the stacks) and papers are spread out on the table; taped to the bookshelf in the upper right corner is a double-entry chronology--ECS on the left, SBA on the right, the green post-it & red note card taped to the side have contextual info. The second picture shows the box in which I keep all relevant information, including folders for each chapter. More books are piled up on the bureau (yes, that is a statue of Santa Claus that my father made in the early 1940s. It was never fired but has survived moves back and forth across the U.S.) p.s. the journals in the metal bookshelves belong to my partner who is head of the program in intellectual disabilities and autism at Teachers College, Columbia University. The file cabinet holds maps and my women's history photo archive.
Since the semester ended, I've been full-time into doing research for Stirring Up The World, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony: A Biography of a Powerful Friendship, except for days when I've needed to tend to the production of Thanksgiving: The True Story, which I'm very happy to report will be out in September. And, of course, my Sophie-days and family birthdays, etc. Yesterday, I got an email from the department secretary reminding faculty that the semester starts tomorrow; not that I had forgotten, but somehow the reminder-email made it real. Fortunately my first class isn't until Monday, but that means just a few more days before I add more demands to my time and attention. So, clearly it's time to shift from doing research to writing, which isn't to imply that I haven't been writing, I have, but nothing that excites me. Nor that I won't continue to do research, just that I'll shift my focus and intensity. So, after all that, if you're wondering whether or not I got up and started writing today? The answer is YES!
Spent a winter weekend at the Jersey Shore with Sophie; her first without the summer crowds. (She--a New York City girl--commented on the lack of people and the silence.) On our way to our bungalow, we stopped at the fish co-op in Point Pleasant Beach (the home port of a fishing fleet)and got some flounder that Sophie--all by herself--rinsed and swished around in the egg and rolled in bread crumbs for me to fry. Sunday morning we bundled up and went at the ocean beach & ran around, made sand castles, picked up shells to paint later, and played in the frothy surf. As was probably predictable, in time, a wave splashed up and over Sophie's rubber boots. Later when we returned to Englewood, Linda asked her:
How did you like the Shore in the winter?
I liked it, Sophie replied.
Wasn't it really different because you couldn't lie on the beach and go in the water? Well I did go in the water, Sophie told her. My feet were wet and my boots
.
During the last class of the semester, I did a show-and-tell re the publication process for my students in my Issues in Children's Literature class at Queens College. How? I showed them the page proof of Thanksgiving: The True Story that had just arrived. The page proof being my manuscript now typeset and paginated with the placement of the text, illustrations, and other design elements. I talked about the back and forth of line editing, copy editing, revising, checking and double checking. They were astonished at the amount of work involved--truly astonished. Little did they or I know that within a few days(as the result of an email exchange with my editor) I would revise the first two chapters into one chapter and created a chart with information about the 12 claims for the "first" Thanksgiving!! An intense task, but the result s "thrilled" my editor, and me too! We're all really excited about this book.Fortunately I finished in time to spend my one-day-a-week with my granddaugher Soph
ie, who just turned 4 years old. Happily she loves road trips so off we went to the aquarium in Camden, NJ. This is the fourth aquarium we've visited. We identify them with a unique exhibit, e.g., Mystic, CT, with it's beluga whales; NYC with the walruses, including the baby; Jenkinson's with it's albino alligator. This one has two hippopotamuses and a fascinating collection of sea stars. In the picture (l-r) are: bat sea star, sun (thirteen arms); another bat (dark color) ochra (can't remember what's beside it) and a rose sea star. They were in a touching pool, which was very cool.
I'm finally surfacing from a month of intense work demands! And not too soon because today's the winter solstice. This morning I read a wonderful article in my local paper about the fact that Mars will be unusually bright this Christmas Eve and there will be a full Moon. Why? According to Jack Horkheimer, a planetarium director and host of public television show "Star Gazer: Because Mars will be directly opposite the Sun, reflecting the most light, and fairly close to Earth, only 55.5 million miles away. The full Moon will appear nearby, rising about an hours later. In honor of the event, Horkheimer wrote these lyrics in honor of the event. Sing them to the tune of "Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer"Mars is a red-tinged planetWith a very shiny glowAnd if you look to see itYou will find the Moon intow.All of the other YuletidesSanta would have at his sideThe shiny nose of RudophActing as his big sleigh'sguideBut this very ChristmasEveSanta came to say;Rudolph, now with Mars so bright,You can stay at hometonight.Then all the reindeer teasedhim.And they shouted out withglee:"Rudolph, the red-nosedreindeerOutsourced to astronomy."
Tomorrow I'm doing an author visit in Sophie's pre-school class at the Medical Center Nursery School in New York City. I'm going to read pieces I wrote for U*S*Kids: A Weekly Reader Magazine (no longer in publication)-- "Stamps!" a brief nonfiction article on stamp collecting and a short fiction story "I Like It When People Laugh." I'll introduce my readings by telling the youngsters that when I write fiction I get to make-up stuff and when I write nonfiction I don't get to make-up stuff. I checked with the teacher, and she's game for letting a room full of 3 & 4-year-old kids test out different laughs--YEAH for flexible, up-for-an-adventure teachers!!!!
Back to blogging after being distracted by Thanksgiving preparations and house guests and then a miserable cold that actually prompted me to cancel classes last week, a first. Happily yesterday I finally got back into writing Stirring Up the World & I want to make an observation about my writing process: when I'm stuck, i.e., I can't move my writing forward, there are two solutions 1. Unravel what I've written to the point that I get unstuck, i.e., find the place where I started down a cul de sac; 2. Resort to paper and pencil (always a mechanical pencil) to work out the problem, i.e., where to go from that point.
As always, a book project has prompted me to solicit thoughts/ideas/reactions from various people; now, I'm thinking about--friendship. On 11/19/07, I posted an entry "On Writing and Friendship" with which there are also posted two comments about friendships.Annie Unverzagt, a very special friend from the time we were graduate students in the mid-1960s, sent me her cherished copy of Gert & Frieda, by Anita Riggio (New York: Atheneum, 1990) along with her thoughts that she said I could post: Annie on friendship: This delightful children's book tells a wonderful story about friendship. It seems to capture some essentials: emphathetic listening, acceptance of a friend's quirks and differences, enabling a friend to find their strengths, supporting your friend in good times and bad. Our family--especially the girls--have always loved this book, mostly because of "hugging around the middle" concept. I suspect we are attracted to the humor and whimsy that underlie friendship. No one is taking here--it is a relationship of giving on both parts.
As I get older, I am most appreciative of the timeless quality in a good friendship. It does not seem to matter if you last visited together yesterday or many years ago. There is the caring and interest in your friend's life and living that seems to transcend time, especially when feelings are mutual. You have moved beyond the level of getting something out of a relationship, even if it is only "does the person like me" to purely enjoying the opportunity to exchange in an atmosphere of acceptance.
I have always treasured loyalty as a time-tested strength of friendship. I suppose that is fruther refined to maintaining friendship without requiring anything in return. I think things are much trickier with political--or any other reason--friendships such as the one you are explaing in your book.
Now that I'm in the writing phrase of Stirring Up the World, words, phrases, sentences spontaneously appear in my brain, including in the middle of the night. I went to sleep--or tried to last night--with an unsolved writing problem; about midnight a glimmer of a solution materialized. Humm, I thought, I wonder if it is worth getting up & trying this??? My body said no, but my brain was insistent--no, sleep for you until you see whether or not it works if you delete this and add that. (By works, I mean that I continue to move forward, i.e. that what I've written propels me onward, saying what I want to say, getting me to where I want to go, keeping readers turning the page.) So, I got up, stumbled in the dark down several flights of stairs to my basement office, and happily wrote and wrote until after 2:00 am! Double happily, this morning I reread my night-time writing and concluded that it works in the light of day too!
Last night I went to "A Tribute to Grace Paley: An Evening of Readings and Remembrance" at The Great Hall of Cooper Union in New York City.Paley was a poet, short story writer and political activist. Francine Prose, president of PEN American Center, opened the evening. She was followed by Paley's daughter Nora. Other participants, including Katha Pollitt, Sonia Sanchez, Walter Mosley, Michael Cunningham, and Vera B. Williams, read from Paley's works and gave reminiscences. The program opened and closed with a recording of Grace Paley reading her poem Responsibility that includes these lines: It is the poet's responsibility to speak truth to power as the/Quakers say/It is the poet's responsibility to learn the truth from the powerless/It is the responsibility of the poet to say many times: there is no freedom without justice and this means economic justice and love justice/. . . . It is the responsibility of the poet to be a woman to keep an eye on/this world and cry out like Cassandra, but be/listened to this time.The announcement of the event had this quote from Paley: Let us go forth with fear and courage and rage to save the world.Her dream for her grandchildren, Grace Paley said in a May 2007 interview was: It would be a world without militarism and racism and greed--and where women don't have to fight for their place in the world.I was moved by the event and thrilled to finally be inside the The Great Hall of Cooper Union, the scene of many legendary speeches and meetings and events in American history. The Great Hall, which opened in 1858, has figured in several of my books, including Strike! The Bitter Struggle of American Workers from Colonial Times to the Present--where I wrote about the mass meeting of striking workers on November 25, 1909, when Clara Lemlich, a teenage worker who had been badly beating during her stint on the picket line, electrified the meeting with her words: "I am a working girl, one of those who are on strike against intolerable conditions. I am tired of listening to speakers who talk in general terms. What we are here for is to decide whether we shall or shall not strike. I offer a resolution that a general strike be declared--now!" Lemlich's call to action resulted in, what became known as, "The Uprising of the 20,000," a strike that dramatically demonstrated the power of semi-skilled and unskilled immigrant women workers and catapulted women into prominence in the labor movement, which had traditionally ignored them. The Great Hall was also the scene of the first meeting of the U. S. Sanitary Commission that organized the hospital transport ships during the Civil War. I wrote about Katharine Wormeley, a lady superintendent aboard the hospital transport ships in Adventurous Women: Eight True Stories About Women Who Made a Difference. My essay about Wormeley includes excerpts of her letters. On May 31, 1862, from on board the Knickerbocker she wrote to her mother: It is a piteous sight to see these men: no one knows what war is until they see this black side of it. We may all sentimentalize over its possibilities as we see the regiments go off, or when we hear of a battle; but it is as far from the reality as to read of pain is far from feeling it.
And, of course, The Great Hall played a role in the fight for women's rights--meetings were held there and most of the male and female leaders spoke there, including the women I'm currently writing about--Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. At one time, Anthony had an office in The Great Hall.
p.s. I'm happy to report that two days ago I finally moved from the intense research phase to the writing phase of Stirring Up the World: Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony, a Biography of a Powerful Friendship.
The end of another long thinking
about--how am I going to structure this book?!? Here's a picture of what my thinking "looks" like tonight. At one point in the day, I emailed my friend Dot: "What do you think about friendships??" "Well, let's see," she replied. "Friendships are--rewarding, sustaining, inspiring, fun, frustrating, enduring or fleeting, friendships inspire growth, common interests hold them together, old friendships are a great source of comfort, new friendships are energizing and on some days, your pet is your BEST friend!"Feel free to add your thoughts/ideas/experiences on the topic of friendships!
Spent about 16 hours yesterday with the results of my research into the friendship of Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony. What do I have? Masses of material! Now the writerly question/decision is--what to do with all that material?!? How to turn it into a clear, coherent, compelling (my 3Cs of good writing)nonfiction narrative??? How am I going to structure this book? That question is constantly on my mind. In my sleep last night I was remembering the structures of some of my other books--5 strand interwoven multi-layered structure for Rosie the Riveter: Women Working on the Home Front in World War II, a topical chronology for Corpses, Coffins, and Crypts: A History of Burial, a modified chronology for A Woman Unafraid: The Achievements of Frances Perkins. In an early post (8/7) I wrote about a structure I "saw"--"knitting something with a pattern, i.e. I've got two main skeins of yarn--ECS (I'm thinking she's orange) and SBA (perhaps green) and I'll be picking up stitches from other skeins as I go." One of my tests of the viability of an idea is whether or not it sticks with me--that one is still with me. The ultimate test, of course, is whether or not I can implement the idea & this one isn't there yet. So, back to work!
Our Jersey Shore bungalow is near the cranberry bogs in Double Trouble State Park in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. Luckily this year, we--me, Linda, and Sophie, my three-year-old granddaughter-- managed to get there from NYC in time to watch the wet, or water harvest; an event I've been curious about, especially after writing my forthcoming book Thanksgiving: The True Story. The first two pictures (left to right) show a cranberry bog with ripe berries (cranberries grow on a dwarf evergreen vine in a peat or sandy bog), and two specialized harvesters that knock the berries off the vine. In that picture, the first driver has lifted up the bar that has 9 metal circle because he's about to turn around (see next picture). The other driver still has the bar down and the circles are rotating and knocking the cranberries off the vine (note the water in the bog splashing up). The man wearing the waders directs the drivers and walks in front of them to make sure they don't hit a rock or other obstacle.
"Hey," I shouted to get his attention. "What do you call those machines?"
"Knockers," he shouted back. "Also pickers, I call them pickers."
"What do most people call them?"
"Ask him," he said gesturing to a man standing a bit behind me. Jose has been doing this for fifty years."
Turning to look as Jose, I asked, "What do you call them?"
"Knockers."
The next two pictures are of the bog after it has been flooded with 6" to 8" of water. Since cranberries float, the workers corral them by encircle them with a very long piece of black, flexible material about 8" wide that floats. We could see two workers standing in the corral using a type of push-broom to move the cranberries around but couldn't figure out why. Walking to the side of the truck, we found a man on a ladder who was watching the cranberries fill up the truck.
"Hi," I called out, "We have a question." I didn't expect him to climb down, but he did and cheerfully explained that there is a tub just below the surface of the water with a suction hose that sucks the cranberries up to a platform on the back of a truck. The men in the water are moving the cranberries toward the tub. Periodically one of the men walks over and tightens the black strip encircling the cranberries, thus making the corral smaller; a task, we all agreed, looks like hard work!
The last picture shows the workers standing on the platform. They remove pieces of vine and use a type of push broom to move the cranberries onto a conveyer belt that dumps them into the back of the truck that will go to the receiving station in Chatsworth, NJ. That is where the cranberries get processed into juice and cranberry sauce. (Cranberries that are sold whole are gathered by a "dry harvesting" method by which mechanized machines "pick" the cranberries). As we were leaving, a woman wearing a "Piney Power" T-shirt hailed us to warn us about chiggers (happily no problems for us). Ever the journalist, I asked her about her t-shirt, etc. and discovered she has a cool website (www.pineypower.com) with lots of material about the Pine Barrens, including information about cranberries.
Dot Emer--Emer being the married name of Dot Chastney whose true stories about being a kid during World War II appear throughout my book Rosie the Riveter: Women Working on The Home Front In World War II (there are also photos from Dot's life then), and who you'll meet again in my forthcoming book Thanksgiving: The True Story--is a middle school librarian in Boca Raton, Florida. Dot just sent me the following email about the photographs of the Monarch butterflies on my blog: "Hi Penny, Just want you to know that your Monarch butterfly photos provided a nice science lesson on Wednesday. I went to the sixth grade science teacher and showed her your blog site with the photos. We threw the photos up on the SmartBoard so the whole class could see them and the teacher read your description. She also told the kids that when her boys were young they vacationed in Cape May and there were so many Monarchs on the move that they were landing on the kids."
This is such a great example of a concept I love to introduce when I teach courses in nonfiction writing and nonfiction literature and that is--a "Nonfiction Moment" i.e. anything real that really happens during the course of a day--a conversation, an incident, an observation, a taste, a surprise, an unexpected encounter, something you overhear--that sticks with you. Something that you remember. It doesn't have to be momentous. It can just be a snippet or a sliver of something. It doesn't have to matter to anyone else, just to you is enough. All it has to be is something that really happened--nothing made up--that catches your attention and hangs around inside you.
Just now, I was working on Stirring Up The World and thinking deeply about the 19th century friendship between Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony when I heard a vigorously banging on my front door. Disoriented--remember my brain was in the 1800s--I opened the door & had to think a moment when the woman who was holding a big bouquet of flowers said: "Special surprise for Penny Colman. Are you Penny Colman?" The flowers, I discovered, are in celebration of my 20th anniversary as a freelance writer from Jan Kristo, my dear friend and colleague and co-author along with Sandip Wilson of the forthcoming chapter "Bold New Perspectives: Issues in Selecting and Using Nonfiction." Thank you, Jan, for the gorgeous bouquet, and thank you for the timely reminder of the joy and power of 21st century friendships!
