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Robin's interview with Christopher Kimball of Milk Street Radio/Television went live this week. You can hear it on this Apple podcast link, or on the Milk Street Radio website.
Christopher and I enjoyed an hour-long chat about my book OPEN FOR LUNCH and you will hear excerpts from our conversation beginning at 20:20 in the podcast! He was delightful with his well-thought out questions. Milk Street Radio sent a producer to my Asheville home for the recording since they are based in Boston. If you get Christopher Kimball's Milk Street Radio or Television, our interview is being advertised right now! The title of my book got his attention since he is a well-known foodie, writer, chef; so my particular approach to "lunch" took the food notion in an entirely different direction! Enjoy and let me know what you learned!
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Now you know the story of Andrew. It continues and will do so. He is writing another story and has asked me to critique it. He is signed up for a writing class.
Our lives are again intertwining. I am writing new stories as well----this time fiction, and short stories. And taking classes, like Andrew. There is a theme emerging already and I am smiling as I venture into writing lies, not the gospel truth of memoirs. After this blurb, I will be taking another break. There may be another book in the works, a collection of my short stories. My publisher is already interested. You will occasionally receive a Thursday update, maybe a tease from a new fiction piece, and you are always welcome to contact me! I love hearing from you. Enjoy the fall, and maybe take a writing class! You can do it! Andrew and I continue to meet or talk by phone. His story is really developing into a great work and I can finally call myself his writing coach. I'm enjoying this new role and realizing I am pretty good at it.
"Do you think I ought to submit it?" he asks me. "Whoa, it needs more work. Think about the story, not the audience. Have you considered a writing class? That way you get more feedback than just mine." Fast forward. **OPEN FOR LUNCH** was released in November, 2019, nearly a year after Andrew and I met for the first time at KFC. Andrew was in attendance at the release reading, smiling in the back row. Another lunch story subject was in the audience, as well. When I told the audience of their presence without revealing their identities, (an audience at Malaprops Bookstore's, one of the largest audiences for a local independently-published author), there was an audible gasp that came from the listeners. These lunch stories were REAL. I knew it, but now they knew it, too. Just last week Andrew told me, "I'll be at your next reading, and your next. And your next. This time I'll be on the front row." "You don't have to do that, " I said. "Oh, yes," he said then caught his breath. "You will never know how much you mean to me. You have changed my life." I think I heard him choke up. It was my turn to catch my breath. You never know how a simple invitation to a stranger to dine with you might turn out. Like my other lunch mates, and the ones I continue to invite to my table, Andrew changed my life. Has anyone in particular changed your life? It took me a long time to finally read Andrew's story. I wondered what I was getting into, all the while working hard on my own writing and deadlines. I had my own writing to critique.
I called him. "Do you want me to ink up this story with edits and suggestions or shall we just talk about it at this point?" "Can we do both?" "Okay, here are my general suggestions but I will mail you the inked up version." I went on cautiously about how I thought his story was a story inside a story. I urged him to add sensory details and told him I had taken the liberty to delete what i considered redundant sentences. In other words, I took a chance. "I cannot thank you enough for this, Robin." I mailed the written-all-over copy of his story. When we met over lunch again, he handed me his revised story. "I hope you will see that I changed a lot after talking and then reading the comments you made." He was proud as a peacock! He also told me he had gone back to attending the photography club and was enjoying the company of another photographer, that they had gone on out on a couple shoots together. The new companion was a woman, he told me, almost sheepishly. "Great all the way around." I was overjoyed with his news, his move toward living life again. What is helping Andrew move on with his life? Have you ever experienced a similar situation? As I read Andrew's black notebook of memories I had to remember I was not an editor, but a trusted friend. He wrote like a biographer and not a memoirist. I don't think he was able to get down into the depth of his feelings yet.
I know that is hard work and you have to be prepared for what came up. As I was writing more OPEN FOR LUNCH chapters, I noticed I actually shook all over when I was accessing and sharing the deepest feelings and secrets in my life. Yes, hard work. And it takes courage. When Andrew and I got back together for another healthy lunch, I shared how beautiful his tribute was to his wife and their love. "What do you think of the writing?" he asked. I thought before I spoke. "It is factual, chronological, grammatically perfect," I said. "Feelings and sensory data are not part of the story, but that is okay. You have to be ready to write that. And some folks cannot ever take their stories further than the bare facts. That is not a bad thing. It just is. The tribute, the memories are all written out. A truly beautiful work. Thank you for allowing me to read it." "You are still the only one who has read it, besides me." I handed Andrew's book back to him but opened it to a passage where he spoke of an outing he and his wife had taken to shoot photos on the Blue Ridge Parkway. The writing was sharp and detailed. But the accompanying photos, by him and her, really told the story of their hearts. "This chapter really spoke to me. You capture the moment in words and images." "Maybe I'm more a photographer than a writer," he said closing the notebook and handing me a stapled group of paper with typewritten words. "Here is the fiction story I was telling you I might write." Again, I was honored but a bit stressed about taking on anything more. "I can't promise you when I will get to reading it. Do you want me to critique it?" "Just tell me what you think." We left it at that. Can you see how delicately I needed to tread with Andrew's writing? Critique is a careful reading...what works, what doesn't is the general rule. But that needs to be handled with kid gloves, too. I learned that in my many writing classes. No one wants to go away totally discouraged! It took me longer than I thought it would to write Andrew's story; partly because I was writing feverishly in Master Prose class to complete OPEN FOR LUNCH. I had a deadline with my editor/publisher and a date for the new memoir's release was on the calendar. YIKES!
Andrew and I met for lunch at a healthier lunch spot and he handed over the wolf photos. The wolf's eyes stared at me across the table. "Thank you for these. I definitely get what took place between you and the wolf." Andrew was a sensitive, artistic man and still so broken from his wife's death. "I don't want to impose on you but I brought along a book, like a memory book, I wrote about me and my wife's relationship. She was my soulmate and we wished we had met a lot sooner and enjoyed more time together." He held up a large black notebook and placed it on the table for me to see. "I would like you to take a look. I trust you. No one else has seen it. I will make copies for her children when I am ready to share it." Neatly typed white pages interspersed with color photos made up this lovely book. I read a few passages then agreed to take it home to read at my leisure. "I'm not a writer like you, but I have also started a story and maybe someday you could take at look at it, too," he said. I nodded. I felt both honored and a little stressed about reading this private book of Andrew's; and I wondered when I would get time to complete it along with my own writing deadlines. But I took it on. It meant so much to him for me to read his memories. It took me longer than I thought it would to write Andrew's story; partly because I was writing feverishly in Master Prose class to complete OPEN FOR LUNCH. I had a deadline with my editor/publisher and a date for the new memoir's release was on the calendar. YIKES! Andrew and I met for lunch at a healthier lunch spot and he handed over the wolf photos. The wolf's eyes stared at me across the table. "Thank you for these. I definitely get what took place between you and the wolf." Andrew was a sensitive, artistic man and still so broken from his wife's death. "I don't want to impose on you but I brought along a book, like a memory book, I wrote about me and my wife's relationship. She was my soulmate and we wished we had met a lot sooner and enjoyed more time together." He held up a large black notebook and placed it on the table for me to see. "I would like you to take a look. I trust you. No one else has seen it. I will make copies for her children when I am ready to share it." Neatly typed white pages interspersed with color photos made up this lovely book. I read a few passages then agreed to take it home to read at my leisure. "I'm not a writer like you, but I have also started a story and maybe someday you could take at look at it, too," he said. I nodded. I felt both honored and a little stressed about reading this private book of Andrew's; and I wondered when I would get time to complete it along with my own writing deadlines. But I took it on. It meant so much to him for me to read his memories. Can you understand why I might feel both honored and stressed about reading Andrew's memory book? Andrew told me over the phone that sprinkling his wife's ashes with her children had been a good and bad experience. "I know I have to move on more than I have. And the kids helped me with my move; they carried the heavier stuff to my new apartment. It's just across the hall from my old one."
"That's handy," I said, trying to feel my way out of the awkward call I had just made. Andrew changed the subject again. "I'm looking for those wolf photos. I haven't forgotten." "You have a lot more on your mind than wolves. I'll call you when I complete the story. It's well on its way. And thanks." He and I wished each other well and hung up. What do you see developing between Andrew and me? Many more topics arose during Andrew's and my conversation at KFC. He talked about his careers in business and I shared my therapeutic music work and writing adventures. We were not one-sided at all. In between the deep realizations we were also different people. He told me about his late wife's children coming to visit him, that they were good to him, appreciated how tenderly he treated their mother.
And the very day I called him about writing his story, they had all been together and sprinkled her ashes in some of the local places she loved: Blue Ridge Parkway overlooks, Bass Pond at Biltmore Estate, Western Carolina Nature Center, The NC Arboretum and UNCA Botanical Gardens. This was a holy day for them. Wouldn't you know, I'd call on that day, of all days. Coincidence again? Before I put my pen to paper I pondered more deeply why Andrew might have caught my attention. What was that "something" that moved me to ask him for lunch that day? Why him? There were others in line at KFC.
I know I am an empath, a person whose senses are wide open all the time. I have a hard time settling down, letting go of sensory experiences. In fact, this blessing - curse of empathy works in so many ways. The double-edged sword allows me to intuit what my patients need as I work as a Certified Music Practitioner. And I am good at taking on the mood of a room or a person. I think I sensed that Andrew was carrying deep sadness, loneliness, likely depression. My desire to fix people, help out when I can, make the world a better place led me, as an extroverted empath, to reach out. Perhaps my own brokenness resonated with his. We had both lost spouses. It was difficult to ignore the coincidences that arose over our three hour lunch conversation. My empath-extrovert self was doing what came naturally. Are you super sensitive? Can you resonate with anything that happens to me? You may want to read Dr. Judith Orloff, MD's book The Empath's Survival Guide, NYT bestseller and a life changer for me. Andrew replied. "I think we were meant to meet."
"Yes, I agree. And I want to ask you a favor. May I write up our lunch story and excerpt it weekly on my website? I have been racking my brain about what already-written story for my new book ought to be excerpted and posted prior to publication, and nothing has come up. Your story is so amazing -- I think it is meant to be." "I hardly know what to say. Can you tell me more about this?" "After I write up the story, we would meet for you to go over it with me, make changes, deletions or additions. You may want it to be more anonymous so I would have you choose a name for yourself, possibly alter a location or a conversation." "Oh, you can use my name and anything else." "Let me write it up first and then you can make your decision. Sometimes things change when they are written." "Okay. I'll look forward to reading it when you finish. This was so unexpected." "Yes, another coincidence, perhaps? Thanks for letting me pursue this. And if it does not work for you, I scrap the idea." "Okay, a deal," he said. We chatted a bit and then ended our conversation. I was eager to get pen to notebook (remember, I am a long-hand writer for a first draft!). How would you have reacted to the question for a favor I asked Andrew? I called Andrew. I could hear pleasure in his voice when I announced who I was.
"First of all, I want to tell you how much I enjoyed our lunch last week. I'm nearly obsessed with it, cannot let it go. Second, before I go any further, I want to make sure you know I had no intention of having lunch with anyone that day and that our meeting was not for the purpose of gathering another lunch story for my book. That isn't the way it works. Every encounter is random." "I understand," he said. "I don't want you ever to think I used you. Plain and simple, I was moved to ask you to join me." What do you think moved me to ask Andrew, a perfect stranger, to join me for lunch? Andrew's and my chance meeting over lunch at KFC was the result of sticking my neck out, as I do, and asking a perfect stranger who is alone, to dine with me. Usually I am moved to do so in a fast food or pizza place where we stand in line to order.
That's where the invitation usually takes place. "Something" will push me to ask the question, "I'm alone today too; would you like to eat together?" Andrew's story, our many coincidences told over the table, occupied my mind for several days to the point I needed to call him. My then unreleased second memoir, OPEN FOR LUNCH, in which I relate the lunch stories of many of the lunch strangers I have met, whose poignant declarations begin to inform my own story, was nearing publication and my practice was to send excerpts of a chapter or two. I needed to choose a story. So I called Andrew. Why do you think I called Andrew ? "Let's stay in touch," I offered.
"Yes," he said. "I'll call you when I have the wolf photos for you." He cleaned up our table, picked up the little pieces of notebook paper on the floor and hustled it all to the nearby trash receptacle by the exit doors. Again, I was struck by his politeness. "Bye," I said and walked over to the door to the ladies' restroom. "Bye," he said back, waving his hand and smiling. When I returned to the dining area where we had met, Andrew was gone. Will I ever see Andrew again? I reached in my purse and dug for my business card holder. "Here, this is my contact information," I said handing him one of my color cards with my guitar on the front.
"Wow, that is a beautiful card," he said, pulling up his sweater to access his shirt pocket. He slid a small spiral notebook and pen out and scribbled his name and phone number on the first page. He tore the page out and handed it to me while little pieces of lined white notebook paper fluttered to the floor. I extended my arms, leaned in to hug him. He was tentative so I straightened up and enlarged the space between us. We shook hands instead, but he put his free hand on top of mine. Holding hands had been safe, a moving expression between us. Would you be as tentative about a good-bye hug as Andrew was? We knew it was time to get going. When Andrew looked at his watch he shook his head and smiled. We both slid out of our sides of the booth.
"This time with you has been such a gift to me," he said. I could see tears in his eyes again. "Me, as well." What do you think he will take away from our meeting? I asked Andrew if he had the ability to make me a copy of the wolf photo. "I'd love to see if I might also sense the wolf's spirit."
"When I get all moved and set up in my apartment I'll find the the photo on my hard drive and make you a copy. Actually, there are two photos of the wolf I'll make for you." "Let me pay for the copies, your time, " I said. I knew Andrew was short on cash after taking care of his wife for so many years. He couldn't leave her to go to work. "We'll see," he said. Do you think Andrew will allow me to pay for the photos? Given his financial circumstances should I insist? Andrew must have seen me look at my watch. He looked up when I spoke. "Wow, what a wonderful afternoon meeting you and sharing our lives with each other."
"This meeting was no coincidence," he said. "I think it was meant to be." "I agree." Do you concur that our meeting was "meant to be?" Why? Andrew remained lost in the remembrance of Cody's eyes, Cody's presence. My mind shifted to wondering how long we had been talking. I felt guilty about glancing at my watch, but I lifted my sleeve and looked anyway. It had been over three hours since I asked Andrew to eat lunch with me at the KFC.
Why would I feel guilty about looking at my watch? Andrew continued, "I think that wolf's name is Cody. He's gone now. But he let me get that close to him. He allowed me to raise my camera and capture that communion between us. I have that photo moment framed and on my wall. When I look at it, it's almost like God ----- I believe in God ----- in those wolf's eyes."
Have you ever experienced such a moment with an animal? "There are one or two photos I would have shared with the Photo Club.
You know about the Western Carolina Nature Center?" I nodded that I did. Andrew went on to tell me about his love for the rescue wolves at the Center. How one day the older gray wolf and he stared into each other's eyes and that something spiritual happened in that moment. Do you have a spirit animal? Mine is the jellyfish. Andrew spoke readily. "You live up in North Asheville, right? The photographers don't happen to be Don and Bonnie?"
"Yes," I replied with a huge grin on my face. "How do you know them?" "I greatly admired their work in the photo club. They probably wouldn't know me. My wife and I stayed in the background. Just in case they might remember us, tell them how much I love their work." "Will do." Andrew perked up. How can all these coincidences be happening to us? "You are a generous man," I said after Andrew told me how he had taken care of his wife, his sisters. "What are you doing to take care of yourself since your wife died?"
He said he was going through the motions of being alive, but had no interest in much of anything. "She and I shared a love of nature photography. We joined the local photography club but we didn't own the fancy cameras that most of the members had." "Two really good friends of ours are nature photographers. They're our neighbors. We've gotten to be quite close," I said. I hoped I did not cut him off, move the conversation in a different direction too abruptly. Do you think I changed the conversation direction too fast? Andrew didn't need to explain that his money was tight after taking impeccable care of his ailing wife for many years and not going out to work. He spared no expenses for her. But he added more about his money situation.
"I supported my sisters for way too long. Like my mother, they were helpless. One is an alcoholic and can't hold a job. I helped them out like they were still my kid sisters. I finally had to cut that out and now they barely speak to me." What led Andrew to take care of his sisters for so long? "I'm moving to a smaller apartment this week," he said looking rather downtrodden.
"So, you have to touch all her things, the things you shared." He nodded slowly indicating that he knew I understood. "I'm cutting back. My money's really tight," he added. This time he looked forlorn. Can you guess why Andrew's money is tight? Andrew told me he had family. "They're busy and mostly far away. They've been good to me, though. My wife, their mother, and I were only married ten years. We both wished we had known each other sooner so we could have been together longer."
"A big loss." After I said that I felt stupid. I almost apologized. Why do you think I felt stupid? |
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Musical Morphine:
Award Finalist in the "Health: Alternative Medicine" category of the 2017 Best Book Awards |
