after which the people at the next table clapped and he blushed and sat down. Then the waitress, arriving to write the check, mimed smacking a kiss onto his head, at which he blushed again.
‘Know why you’re the right person?’ he assuredly said as we were shrugging into our coats. ‘It’s because I think us Kilbride people aren’t Californian New Agey and we aren’t East Coast Smart, either. We’re natural Midwesterners. I’m a hopeless writer – photography is my thing – but you’re great with words. And you’re not a cynic; anyone can see that from just looking at you. And neither are the people in Ohio and Idaho and all those places where Louisbooks are on sale. So it’s a fit!’
He practically danced out to wave for a cab, delighted with himself.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said. ‘And there’s an Inspirational Books Fair in the Sheraton on Friday that I can’t stay for, but you’re to promise me you’ll go. And keep dinner free tomorrow. And Rosie’ – sticking his head out of the window of the cab – ‘go and buy yourself a hat on Seattle Rare Medical Books.’
I waved his scarf at him but he shouted ‘Keep it! And Rosie – be positive. This is America! OK? And we’re gonna have fun!’
I imagined Markey’s sparkling eyes on me when I went into Century 21 and bought a velvet cloche with a scarlet flower over one eye. A very old lady shuffling past the mirror where I was trying it on quipped, ‘That’s right, Honey, keep ’em guessing’, which struck me as another reason to buy it.
On the way back to the hotel I also bought a pink notebook.
In the room I got back into my gorgeous bed and inscribed the first page.
NOTES FOR (title to follow). by Rosaleen Barry (New York, 2003)
Then I racked my brain for a wise thought, but I couldn’t think of a single thing.
So I ran a bath, with the intention of saying a prayer for our little venture while I was soaking, but I was too delighted and too jet-lagged and I couldn’t concentrate. Also, when I sat up in the water it just so happened that I could see myself in a particularly flattering mirror. So I got out and put on the new hat and got back in and sang the ‘Flower Song’ from Carmen at top volume instead.
I then took out my laptop to check my email.
From: [email protected]
Sent: 12.00 p.m.
It was great to see you this morning – just great. And you haven’t changed a bit. I’d forgotten how your face lights up when you’re interested. Of course God help everyone when you’re not interested.
I called Louis as soon as I had a break and he wants to know the working title. Any ideas?
From: [email protected]
Sent: 12.30 p.m.
How about A Wise Woman’s Thoughts for the Middle of the Journey? Or – seeing as how I have to put my specs on to type this – how about The Bittersweet Years? Or if you think that’s too downbeat, how about The Cheerful Book of Growing Older? Or – to lay my cards right on the table – Making the Best of the Middle Years? Alternatively, I noticed in the plane on the way over here the little icon of the airplane inching across the map. Wouldn’t Time to Destination be a great title? After all, the main thing about middle age is the consciousness that time is running out.
From: [email protected]
Sent: 12.40 p.m.
Lay off the European gloom! Next thing you’ll be quoting Sam Beckett. I was talking to the women who serve coffee at the convention centre – they’re no chickens and they say they’re having the time of their lives. So we could call it – 50 Plus – The Time of Your Life!
From: [email protected]
Sent: 1.30 p.m.
STOP PRESS!!
Chico just called. He said the maximum wordage for a Louisbook is 1,500.
From: [email protected]
Sent: 1.45 p.m.
That’s not too bad. That leaves room for epigraphs, statistics, etc.
From: [email protected]
Sent: 1.50 p.m.
1,500 words for the whole thing.
From: [email protected]
Sent: 1.55 p.m.
WHAT IS THIS? A JOKE??? The greatest writers and philosophers and religious teachers have spent centuries trying just to approach, never mind give advice on, how to live. I SINCERELY HOPE YOU ARE KIDDING?
From: [email protected]
Sent: 2:10 p.m.
I checked with Chico.
1,500 is what’s on the table, ol’ pal.
So, are you in or out?
From: [email protected]
Sent: 4.45 p.m.
OK, OK!
In.
I’m a pro, after all. I write brochures.
So here’s an example of a kind of ‘Thought’ @ 150 words:
Attachment # 1: The Age of Miracles
Many of the experiences of our youth seem to pass without leaving a trace. But they do not. It’s just that, like plants put down for spring in the depths of winter, we don’t know which of them will flower or bear fruit.
We have to wait to find out.
In the middle years, the wait ends. What we planted earlier in life we harvest now.
This is a great truth: that you have to keep living to find out which bits of living come right. You can never be sure of what you’re laying down for the future. You have to wait for the future to happen, to find out.
The miracle is that even when the past seems to be lost ground, as long as you continue to live, it is not.
And so, middle age becomes the age of miracles. When, at last, you too can know how rare miracles are!
From: [email protected]
Sent: 5.30 p.m.
I sent the ‘Thought’ on to Chico right away and he’s just called to say that Louis thinks the Irish are well-known to be very sensitive, and he goes right along with that.
Of course, people over here are polite to a fault, and we don’t have a contract or anything resembling one.
But can you do ten of these things? I mean, I couldn’t do even one. Are there even ten different ways of being inspirational in 150 words?
From: [email protected]
Sent: 7.00 p.m.
No problem! They’re for people our age, aren’t they? Well, if I look around my own life I see that the rewards come from my body (not often enough!), from having a little money, from friendship, the arts, travel, food, and animals – even Min’s cat Bell, who doesn’t much like me, gives me endless pleasure. And not giving up: keeping going is itself a source of value. That makes nine topics, doesn’t it, if you keep the one about how miraculous middle age turns out to be? Which it is. Who’d have thought that you and I would be doing this, for example?