I really LOVE this piece, "Attraction." I can relate to you since I often get to parties late! But the biggest part of your piece that just touched my heart is your discussion about death. So few people talk about death (and I don't always love talking about it), but I'm 74 and for several years now, I've been losing people I love. For me, it's the hardest part of growing older. (And I often feel younger than my age, though less now, with trump as president--so draining!) The way you described your friend Gardner dying and how you spent time with him at the end, was just so beautiful. The idea (and how you comforted that other woman with your experiences) that you keep the person you loved STILL WITH YOU even after death, really moved me. I want to do that! To keep that person, that person's true being, inside of you forever, that is something I'm going to try to do now. That way I don't lose that person forever, even if he/she is no longer on this earth plane. Your writing is a gift! You write so honestly and with such HEART. I really appreciate you and learn from you! Thank you so much.
This is one incredible piece. I love it. There's suspense in it, too. Your walking into the party three hours late, the dying balloons, the low energy of the remaining guests. Your interaction with Jill, your thoughts on death, grief, her tears, your "elbowing" her to the remaining railing. This is the first chapter of a novel I want to read more.
"I think I’m reporting a common trait, the thing about forgetting you are understood as old or older before anything else has a chance to register." I'm 74 and slowly getting used to this, Laurie. All my adolescent life onward, I was used to being looked at. I used to wish I was invisible. Now that I am, it feels weird. Someone described it in another substack as people just looking straight through you as if you're ot there. Yeah, invisible. Now that I'm getting more used to it, I laugh. At myself. Thanks for sharing Gardner's chairs and art.
"Was I the oldest person there?" A question I may not directly ask myself, but always wonder in the back of my mind. My feelings change about this - sometimes, I am happy to be the oldest. I associate it with being the wisest in the room (though that may be giving myself way too much credit!). Sometimes, I wonder when did I start asking myself if I was the oldest person in the room? Then, I remembered a time when I was out at happy hour with younger colleagues. I looked around and felt a sense of pride - we are all the same despite our age. Later that night, I was in pajamas on the couch at 10PM, and social media told me they were showered, dressed up, and on their way out to party. Ahhh, I realized we were not the same after all. And I was ok with that. That one question did indeed bring me down a garden of forking paths. Thank you!
That evergreen piece was an intriguing read. I loved this part, could feel the cold and hear the quiet. "We ran to the suburbs and threw ourselves backwards into a field of snow. It was our only escape, and we held our breath under a whiteness like death. The snow became a sea, and we swam to an island. " And in this piece, the part about forgetting to remember you are old now. I do that every day. I want to know what they see, because I can't.
I love so many aspects of this piece. The subject matter, the way the party is described ((woozy, dying balloon energy) and the proof, without hitting us over the head with it, that attraction to humans, like wandering around with half a chessboard, always comes with a reason, if we follow our noses like the dogs do. I also loved Dying for Sex, didn't think I would but it was so much more than I imagined. I met you in Hudson with my friend Jane Ormerod, although I had seen you at events in NYC in the past, but that was the first time I introduced myself and I mentioned then that I followed you on Substack. Still do, although this is my first comment.
“It would not have been the first time my eagerness to speak directly had elbowed a stranger over a handmade railing. It’s the intimacy of strangers on a train, where you decide you can say anything or ask any questions because the rules of a moving train change culture and society—no one is where they live. You are operating in the culture of the train, which is the culture of the milk bar on the unnamed planet in Star Wars, where every kind of sentient creatures mingles.”
I loved this passage, Laurie. It’s in the moving train and the milk bar where I feel so good to be my unbridled accepted self. Like walking in a city and no one knows me, I can allow people to judge me without caring. Why do we care what people think when we know them? This silliness of needing to be accepted by those we know, for validation sucks the meat off my bones. When I’m down, I like to talk with strangers that have a good vibe and never see them again.
Zing, you hit me hard with this line: "It would not have been the first time my eagerness to speak directly had elbowed a stranger over a handmade railing." Right to the heart, so let's not waste time here.
"You run to find another animal to sniff around with. You come with half a chess board, and so do they, and you look for a face that wants to play." I used to call it "working the room" with a compatible fellow animal. Sniff around, make eye contact with a stranger, and say, "let's work the room together." Even if it was a small room. Past tense, because I haven't been to a party with other sentient beasts in many years. Thanks Laurie, needed this to wake up today.
i love this, me too: This rushing thing I do I’m not fond of. I would like to be a person who takes her time and watches a little before needing to act in character.
I really LOVE this piece, "Attraction." I can relate to you since I often get to parties late! But the biggest part of your piece that just touched my heart is your discussion about death. So few people talk about death (and I don't always love talking about it), but I'm 74 and for several years now, I've been losing people I love. For me, it's the hardest part of growing older. (And I often feel younger than my age, though less now, with trump as president--so draining!) The way you described your friend Gardner dying and how you spent time with him at the end, was just so beautiful. The idea (and how you comforted that other woman with your experiences) that you keep the person you loved STILL WITH YOU even after death, really moved me. I want to do that! To keep that person, that person's true being, inside of you forever, that is something I'm going to try to do now. That way I don't lose that person forever, even if he/she is no longer on this earth plane. Your writing is a gift! You write so honestly and with such HEART. I really appreciate you and learn from you! Thank you so much.
I'm delighted! And please subscribe when you have a chance. I couldn't find you in the list. xxL
This is one incredible piece. I love it. There's suspense in it, too. Your walking into the party three hours late, the dying balloons, the low energy of the remaining guests. Your interaction with Jill, your thoughts on death, grief, her tears, your "elbowing" her to the remaining railing. This is the first chapter of a novel I want to read more.
“We were easy with each other, as if being easy was breathing.” My favorite line among many. Beautiful as always, dear Laurie. 💕
Thanks, love!
"I think I’m reporting a common trait, the thing about forgetting you are understood as old or older before anything else has a chance to register." I'm 74 and slowly getting used to this, Laurie. All my adolescent life onward, I was used to being looked at. I used to wish I was invisible. Now that I am, it feels weird. Someone described it in another substack as people just looking straight through you as if you're ot there. Yeah, invisible. Now that I'm getting more used to it, I laugh. At myself. Thanks for sharing Gardner's chairs and art.
Thanks so much for appreciating them. xxL
"Was I the oldest person there?" A question I may not directly ask myself, but always wonder in the back of my mind. My feelings change about this - sometimes, I am happy to be the oldest. I associate it with being the wisest in the room (though that may be giving myself way too much credit!). Sometimes, I wonder when did I start asking myself if I was the oldest person in the room? Then, I remembered a time when I was out at happy hour with younger colleagues. I looked around and felt a sense of pride - we are all the same despite our age. Later that night, I was in pajamas on the couch at 10PM, and social media told me they were showered, dressed up, and on their way out to party. Ahhh, I realized we were not the same after all. And I was ok with that. That one question did indeed bring me down a garden of forking paths. Thank you!
Happy I did!
That evergreen piece was an intriguing read. I loved this part, could feel the cold and hear the quiet. "We ran to the suburbs and threw ourselves backwards into a field of snow. It was our only escape, and we held our breath under a whiteness like death. The snow became a sea, and we swam to an island. " And in this piece, the part about forgetting to remember you are old now. I do that every day. I want to know what they see, because I can't.
Thank you!
I love so many aspects of this piece. The subject matter, the way the party is described ((woozy, dying balloon energy) and the proof, without hitting us over the head with it, that attraction to humans, like wandering around with half a chessboard, always comes with a reason, if we follow our noses like the dogs do. I also loved Dying for Sex, didn't think I would but it was so much more than I imagined. I met you in Hudson with my friend Jane Ormerod, although I had seen you at events in NYC in the past, but that was the first time I introduced myself and I mentioned then that I followed you on Substack. Still do, although this is my first comment.
Fabulous comment! Happy we met and hope we will again. xxL
Another gorgeous piece that got me thinking more deeply about the day thus far and who/what I have interacted with. You get the antenna activated!
I was just thinking of you!! I swear. Drinks soon. xxL
Slayed me! thank you
Thanks so much!
“It would not have been the first time my eagerness to speak directly had elbowed a stranger over a handmade railing. It’s the intimacy of strangers on a train, where you decide you can say anything or ask any questions because the rules of a moving train change culture and society—no one is where they live. You are operating in the culture of the train, which is the culture of the milk bar on the unnamed planet in Star Wars, where every kind of sentient creatures mingles.”
I loved this passage, Laurie. It’s in the moving train and the milk bar where I feel so good to be my unbridled accepted self. Like walking in a city and no one knows me, I can allow people to judge me without caring. Why do we care what people think when we know them? This silliness of needing to be accepted by those we know, for validation sucks the meat off my bones. When I’m down, I like to talk with strangers that have a good vibe and never see them again.
Brilliant! Thought provoking. Moving.
Thanks, love. xxL
Beautiful, Laurie. The way the piece turns and turns and hits the heart. And Gardner's painting too!
Thank you! xxL
Zing, you hit me hard with this line: "It would not have been the first time my eagerness to speak directly had elbowed a stranger over a handmade railing." Right to the heart, so let's not waste time here.
Over the railing we go. Over the railing we nudge! xxL
If we pay close attention we carry death with us rather than being buried by it...yours is a beautiful tribute, Laurie. Thank you.
Yes. xxL
"You run to find another animal to sniff around with. You come with half a chess board, and so do they, and you look for a face that wants to play." I used to call it "working the room" with a compatible fellow animal. Sniff around, make eye contact with a stranger, and say, "let's work the room together." Even if it was a small room. Past tense, because I haven't been to a party with other sentient beasts in many years. Thanks Laurie, needed this to wake up today.
Lovely, Wayne. xxL
i love this, me too: This rushing thing I do I’m not fond of. I would like to be a person who takes her time and watches a little before needing to act in character.
Yes! I know. xxL
I feel less lonely in this world reading you, Laurie Stone!
What a lovely thing to hear.