…you go to a gallery you have never heard of—Okay Mountain—and see absolutely no one you know. Not a soul. And this, in a town where I used to go out A LOT and knew at least fifty percent of the people at any restaurant, theatre or party. Still I forge ahead, pressing through the crowd to try and see the art because, well, that’s I’m there, right? I bump into one guy, in a hat, huddled with another guy, talking. The bump leads to apologies and looking in each other’s faces and then, suddenly there is one recognizable face in this sea of people, only it’s recognizable in a billboard, magazine, television kind of way. Startling really. To be completely adrift in the town I used to know so well and now the only person I recognize in a strange room full of strangers is Lance Armstrong. So odd. So very, very odd.
My latest Good Life Magazine Family column is on the stands.
I love that I got to write about my friend, Dianna Aston. I love writing my columns. I love that when I start to write it I never know exactly where it will go. I write the first line—I miss my friend Dianna Aston—and it’s like I have started the car and headed out on a drive. Only when I’m headed home do I know the title and how it will pertain to raising children.