A Christmas Story

Christmas Eve.
I call a friend in Falls Church, Virginia, to get Angela's phone number in England. She's not home.
So I calculate the 16-hour difference between here and Australia, and I catch T. as she's going out the door. I get A's phone number. Now I have to calculate the 5 hours' difference between here and England. When the time is right over there I call Angela.

She's so surprised. I think about you often, she says, and now here you are, and on Christmas Eve! We reconnect, but we also agree that we really haven't disconnected at all. We have this network of friends on three continents. We talk of others we know and knew, we catch up. I learn that Maura owns a place in Deauville, although she moved back to her native Ireland. Deauville!!!!! Nice. And it's so easy now to shoot over to France and back.

Angela asks me if I'm still in touch with David. No, we lost touch but I would love to find him again. Does she know? She doesn't. The Internet has yielded nothing, and I don't expect it to, given his high profile.

After the Christmas Eve festivities, on my way to bed, tired and sleepy, I suddenly wake up and go to my bookshelf. Yes! I've kept my old address books from Washington, Dublin, etc. There's David's address and phone number. What are the chances he's still there? I remember the house and the garden, quite lovely, so perhaps they stayed there. Perhaps. I'll try the phone number and see what happens.

But not right now. I have to go and feed a couple of cats next door. And play with them. And talk to them.
Many happinesses to you all!