We met our late friend Kam’s younger sister, Ravi, for a meal last night in central London. They knew all these sorts of places. So while she had been to this restaurant previously, we hadn’t: La Porte des Indes:
It’s a French-Indian place behind Marble Arch tube station. If you are ever in that part of London, it is worth a try. (I also warn you, it is pricey.) Waiting for her to appear, we discovered, as you see on the Google page I captured above, that they do indeed make excellent cocktails:
I’m flying to New York (alone) next week for a 10 day visit to check on my father in Pennsylvania and also check on our house and “lock it down” for a Catskills winter – where temperatures can easily fall to -10C (14F) for days on end. Hopefully, no “local guests” have eaten it completely since I was there in June! You may remember what was awaiting me the last time…
This dawned on me as well as I explained that plan yesterday while I was answering a message from a cousin in Connecticut. Now married with two young sons, she and I grew up living around the corner from each other on Long Island – where none of our families now live any longer. With my mother’s one year anniversary upon us, she’d written me asking how my dad is doing these days.
A year ago today – October 12, 2015 – my novelist uncle (and my godfather) died. Incredibly, my mother would follow her brother on October 26. It has not been a “good year.”
But my recent personal “trials” had actually begun a year and some earlier: on February 2, 2014. On that day we were told (while we were in America) that Kam, our friend of two decades, had died (in London) after several years of illness. Upon hearing the depressing news, I felt sadder and sicker than I had ever felt over a death before in my entire life. A few days later, I wrote about her here.
Naturally afterwards we others out here all have to live on, but being unexpectedly confronted with a reminder of a deceased loved one can be a harshly unpleasant and emotional moment that no one else quite comprehends. In this case, I was taken aback last weekend when I saw a late 2013 photo of her – only weeks before her death – in our Irish friends’ lounge. A little while ago, I ran it through the Prisma photo app, which in one format converted it into almost the otherworldly:
Ireland: the moment you arrive, you feel at home. Perhaps as an American that’s at least partly due to its familiarity. Like many Americans, some of my ancestors moved to America from there.
Yet ancestry is not one of the reasons I have been drawn to it. Frankly back in my teens it had never been somewhere that I had dreamed of visiting. In fact, quite the opposite.
I was never close with the Irish immigrants and their U.S.-born kids who were all on my dad’s side of the family. Indeed, Dad was mostly not fond of them (to be polite). That probably even negatively impacted my outlook about the country while growing up.
However, I suppose after seeing it in person the first time I came to appreciate it solely for what it is, uncolored by family prejudices wildly pro or nastily con.
That visit was in long ago 1998. I recall doing a “pub crawl” my first evening with my future wife and her long-time Irish girlfriend, who lived near Dublin city center with her husband.
I also remember by 11pm or so, the three of us sitting in a McDonalds.
And I also still recall the, uh, Mcbuilding seemed to be spinning.😉
As you probably know, I write fiction set in the late 20th century and – soon to come, hopefully – the late 18th century. I think I can do so in part because I feel I’ve gleaned a few basic insights over the years about people and relationships. We all do learn more as we mature further simply because we have usually come to experience more over time.
Social media also allows us, of course, to share our own unpleasant life moments – such as this one I saw on Instagram last night:
And social media also makes it possible for us to offer a little advice and even some (hopefully) reassuring words. Which is what I am about to try to do. Here is some insider information from an “old” married guy, which may prove useful for you as a woman.
I admit I share this nervously. But we must not be afraid to talk about this sort of thing. There is too much of this in the world.
I didn’t receive a birthday card from my sister. That was no shock to me, really, as this was my first birthday my mother wasn’t around. Thus I have further proof that my mother had prompted my sister to do many “ordinary” things in life while also implying she was actually doing them on her own.
Outwardly, my sister looks “fine” and usually appears “normal,” but she has been extremely “troubled” inside for at least a decade. She never moved out of the family home. She hasn’t held a job in many years. She has no friends. There’s something very wrong with her; her behaviors at times have been “bizarre.”
New students at Clark University in Massachusetts have been advised against using the expression “You guys” because it is deemed sexist.
No alternative specific gathering greeting is suggested in the New York Times article that tweet references. We know American southerners famously say “y’all.” The British may say “You lot.” (However, reading the article “You lot” may not be acceptable either given its use by someone sometimes suggests the speaker is claiming superiority to the group being addressed.) Or maybe we could go for “Comrades?”
Kidding aside, I do not recall hearing “You guys” when I was in university in the 1980s and early 1990s. It has really taken hold in the last 20 years or so. I’ve never used it seriously myself.