Laurie, the pyrotechnics of your column today had me smiling and then tearing up and then smiling again. Every single thing you wrote was wonderful. And, oh my god, the penis, the penis. You told Gary S a thing or two that he needed to know. During this head-exploding week of political mayhem, I am so grateful for where you take us. I was also grateful for where Richard took us today, too. Thank you both.
Thank you both. I have no great memories of penises or fathers. But my old husband - we didn't know each other pre-65, and we're in our mid-80s, now, but I look at a photo of him in his 40s, one of those old sepia jobs, and the man I see is the one whose penis I'd never ever forget. Gives me the shivers. He's beautiful at 85, and sweet and loving as no one ever has been before, with me. But oh you guy! How many times do we live in? And each one can be such fun.
A bouquet of riches -- love the double post -- this really captured me: "The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch. Suddenly it’s gone, and you don’t go looking for it." A moment of epiphany.
And Richard's last line -- being dreamt by our own past stories and by the stories we write is something I've explored in novels and poems -- really resonated :)
This is so simply magnificent. The line « The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch. » caught me right in the gut. My god.
Loved every bit of this, particularly the opening bit about the slow cooker ...
Richard's superb description of the cold is highly relatable since I lived on the Isle of Man for a number of years and the Irish Sea does not kid around. That creeping dampness can only be eliminated by drinking brandy in a scalding hot bath and when I lived there, I couldn't afford either one! (Keeping warm in '70s Britain was an expensive treat ...)
After I grew up, I would visit my grandparents in Blackpool and have two scalding baths a day to warm up. It was the only thing that worked. They were too polite to comment on it.
When we visited our grandparents as children in the 50’s and early sixties, we would start to put on our coats before going outside for a windy walk. It was summer. Granny would say, “oooh, you’re soft,” and make us go out with only a cardigan.
Damn. IT! You are just toooo much for your own words. Tap dancing ? I did. Lost count on :in beds age 19 to 27. Settled into marriage. 44 years gone. What’s next ?
This is all I need. I’ve gnawed on all the political things, trying to find some rare bite that satisfies (ha!!!!). Here, I see all the comments quoting your exquisite line - “The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch” - and, oh yes. My crème brûlée, my amaro, I’m done. Again, thank you.
"The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch. Suddenly it’s gone, and you don’t go looking for it. This has seldom happened to me."
I must have read this five times and sat and thought and didn't make dinner and sat and read it again and got caught up in my own reveries about lost people and lost time and living in NYC at the Westbeth Artists's House off Hudson so your sentence became my madeline today, Laurie, fabulous stylist and writer. This has seldom happened to me. Thank you for your words.
Laurie, the pyrotechnics of your column today had me smiling and then tearing up and then smiling again. Every single thing you wrote was wonderful. And, oh my god, the penis, the penis. You told Gary S a thing or two that he needed to know. During this head-exploding week of political mayhem, I am so grateful for where you take us. I was also grateful for where Richard took us today, too. Thank you both.
That transport is exactly our aim! xxL
Thank you both. I have no great memories of penises or fathers. But my old husband - we didn't know each other pre-65, and we're in our mid-80s, now, but I look at a photo of him in his 40s, one of those old sepia jobs, and the man I see is the one whose penis I'd never ever forget. Gives me the shivers. He's beautiful at 85, and sweet and loving as no one ever has been before, with me. But oh you guy! How many times do we live in? And each one can be such fun.
Beautiful!
A bouquet of riches -- love the double post -- this really captured me: "The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch. Suddenly it’s gone, and you don’t go looking for it." A moment of epiphany.
And Richard's last line -- being dreamt by our own past stories and by the stories we write is something I've explored in novels and poems -- really resonated :)
Thank you both x
Wonderful to hear. Thanks!
This is so simply magnificent. The line « The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch. » caught me right in the gut. My god.
Thank you!
Loved every bit of this, particularly the opening bit about the slow cooker ...
Richard's superb description of the cold is highly relatable since I lived on the Isle of Man for a number of years and the Irish Sea does not kid around. That creeping dampness can only be eliminated by drinking brandy in a scalding hot bath and when I lived there, I couldn't afford either one! (Keeping warm in '70s Britain was an expensive treat ...)
Thanks for the much needed lift today, you two xo
After I grew up, I would visit my grandparents in Blackpool and have two scalding baths a day to warm up. It was the only thing that worked. They were too polite to comment on it.
When we visited our grandparents as children in the 50’s and early sixties, we would start to put on our coats before going outside for a windy walk. It was summer. Granny would say, “oooh, you’re soft,” and make us go out with only a cardigan.
I love the back to back Stone:Toon pieces. Thank you for delicious reads, pliable penises, hot tea in big mugs and the wintry sea.
Thanks, sweetheart.
Damn. IT! You are just toooo much for your own words. Tap dancing ? I did. Lost count on :in beds age 19 to 27. Settled into marriage. 44 years gone. What’s next ?
More dancing!
Saving this one for the penis paean. Priceless.
Happy to hear!
So much to marvel at here, and the poetry: the poetry.
Thanks so much!
This is all I need. I’ve gnawed on all the political things, trying to find some rare bite that satisfies (ha!!!!). Here, I see all the comments quoting your exquisite line - “The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch” - and, oh yes. My crème brûlée, my amaro, I’m done. Again, thank you.
"The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch" - makes me melt.
Whenever people here ask me if I miss New York (and its been decades since ...)
I always ask 'Which One?'
Oddly those same people still ask me, as if 'here' was another planet - Do you like it here?
And even more oddly ... Would you ever move back?
A lark and a strut! So tickled!
You and E dance good. xxL
"The thing that curbs your connection to another person is an animal you can’t catch. Suddenly it’s gone, and you don’t go looking for it. This has seldom happened to me."
I must have read this five times and sat and thought and didn't make dinner and sat and read it again and got caught up in my own reveries about lost people and lost time and living in NYC at the Westbeth Artists's House off Hudson so your sentence became my madeline today, Laurie, fabulous stylist and writer. This has seldom happened to me. Thank you for your words.
And thank you for your words. xxL
Your writing is stunning, Laurie. I loved every word.
Loved this.
Yep. That line about the animal you can’t catch. And you feeling those dance steps when the Sting song plays. Well, thank you.