On a day when we New Englanders were celebrating slush, water dripping from frozen eaves, and air with a scent, what a thrill it was to meet Melodye who’d left hummingbirds nesting among green leaves to attend to family needs in New England. She found it hard to understand why we were gushing about fifty degrees, and in fact it was snowing later that day, but she heroically drove over potholes and parked on an icy slope to meet me for lunch.
It’s wonderful to get to know people through their blogs, but what a treat to get a smile not far from yours, to hear real laughter bubble, and pour not-virtual vanilla and cardamom tea. I like turning a bit of life into words on a screen, and Melodye and I bonded over our commitment to taking our time choosing words, but what a joy to let words spill and scatter. Eating tomato soup and melted cheese over artichokes on toast, we mentioned some of the craziness that works its way into all lives, and things interesting and mundane as favorite kinds of tea. We could expand on some gritty edges or darker times, delve a bit into struggles and triumphs with craft. Tell a few secrets, like how I don’t understand much of Emily Dickinson, which made Melodye laugh. Whoops, now you know, too.
I’ll likely forget much of what we said on a shared window seat, but never my sense of great good fortune to have met across a few thousands miles for a conversation based on knowing each other’s written words, then shimmying between the lines, snuggling into some of the stories in the margins.