Who Are the People in My Neighborhood?

. . . and do they take cream, oat, soy or almond milk?

Some of the people in my neighborhood.

This photo was taken on January 9, 2021. Folks in winter clothing — love the headwear! — masked, six feet apart, unless in your pod. Remember those rules? Mandatory, optional, relaxed, reinstated, rebelled against, complied with, situational. Anyone?

Me neither.

In October, 2020, Brian (far right, in the photo but not politically) and his partner Rebekah sent an email to twenty households on our street. “We will be serving coffee in our front yard on Saturday mornings from 9:00 to 10:30, starting tomorrow. Bring your own cup. No need to RSVP.” They didn’t know if anyone would show up.

People showed up. They continue to show up. They bring friends, family members, pets, house guests, and visiting scholars. Actually, we’re all visiting scholars. We read a lot of books.We talk a lot about books. Everyone has an area of expertise, and is eager to share. It may not be Bloomsbury or the Algonquin round table, but it’s an invigorating way to spend a Saturday morning.

Now that I’ve introduced you to my neighbors, I want to share something else. I posted this on Substack Notes on Friday. I could say the note went viral, but it’s all relative and I’m new here. Nor do I want to jinx things or summon a new Covid variant.

Met a friend at a coffee shop to do some writing. I ordered an Americano with room for cream. Look what I got! A Room of One’s Own. Another reminder (do I need one?) to read and re-read all of Virginia Woolf’s work this year.

I’m starting now.

“Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.” The rest of the book opens like a Faberge egg from that sentence.

Maybe I do live in Bloomsbury.

Something I’m excited to share:

Great idea from

Kristyn Miller

of

The Documented Heart

: Make a practice of taking one photo a day, every day. After 365 days, you’ll have documented your year.

I’m late to the party, and my brain is too scrambled right now to know if I’ve gotten this correctly, but I’m doing it.

December 31. I know it’s from 2023, but I ended the year at one with the Wordlebot. Should I be thrilled, or terrified?

January 5. My cat is at one with my pillow.

January 7. Replica of Frank Lloyd Wright “Sprite” sculpture in my dining room.

Deep gratitude to my two newest paid subscribers:

Colleen Burns Durda

writes

This Side of the Couch

on Substack, about her experience as a suburban wife and mother with bipolar disorder. Author of the bold memoir, The Second, she’s witty, wonderful, and compassionate. Honest and forthcoming, she’s the real CBD. Accept no imitations.

Teri Adams

is a disability advocate who writes with great authority from decades of professional and personal experience at

Reality Check - Crip Edition

Her brilliantly written stories will give you a bigger jolt than five shots of espresso. With her compassion, wisdom, and humor, you won’t need room for more. It’s all there.

Thanks, again, to my first two subscribers,

Mary McCormick

and

Ann Kennedy Smith

who honored me with their pledges and gave me the privilege of calling myself, for the first time in my life, a paid writer.

All subscribers will receive my newsletters in your inbox at least once a week. You can comment and converse with other readers. If you value my work and have the means to do so, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. You’ll get bonus personal notes, surprise gifts and more. All readers have my undying gratitude.

During January* I’m offering annual subscriptions for 30% off until the end of time. There’s a monthly option as well. You can unsubscribe at any time.

*An arbitrary time limit. I grew up with urgency-driven advertising.