Catadromy

I’ve never met her, but I feel as if I know her.  I’ve seen her movies (When Harry Met Sally, You’ve Got Mail, Julie & Julia, Heartburn, Sleepless In Seattle), I’ve seen her play—Love, Loss and What I Wore and I’ve read her books—I Feel Bad About My Neck and I Remember Nothing.  I want to be her, I want to have her life and most importantly, I want to write as well as she does.

We were coming back from taking the Darling Child on her third and final College Tour—we made three trips in all and toured some 16 schools.  One trip to Chicago, which covered from the University of Wisconsin in the north to the University of Illinois in the south.  A second trip to Boston, in which we made a big circle that encompassed Massachusetts and Connecticut and a third trip to Washington, D.C. which also covered Maryland and Virginia.  In August.  Ah, the delights of Washington, D.C. in August.  I downed bottle after bottle of water, but mysteriously, never needed to pee because I sweat it all out.

But I digress.  The tales of the College Tour are for another post.

We were finished with our tour of The George Washington University and I needed something to read on the plane ride home, so we went into the bookstore.  There it was, on sale—I Feel Bad About My Neck.  I hadn’t heard very much about it, but as I love Nora Ephron, I bought it.

I started to read it on the plane home and began laughing.  And laughing.  And laughing.  Laughing so loudly and so much that I was cackling.  And embarrassing my family.  Which is what I live for, honestly.  They never sit with me, anyway.  We generally sit in aisle seats, facing or in rows behind each other.  If they could have put me out on the wing of the plane for the duration, they would have.

I’m now reading her newest book—I Remember Nothing.  It’s not true, of course.  She remembers Everything.  But now, I read on my Kindle, late at night when it’s just me and the Husband.  So I can’t laugh or cackle.  The latest book isn’t as laugh-out-loud funny as the other one; it’s sadder and more poignant, as it deals more with aging.  But it’s still funny.  I just laugh more quietly and to myself.

Shh.  I Just Want to Say: Nora Ephron—keep on.  Keep On.