Memories

I exchanged letters with an old friend this week and I enjoyed reminiscing with her about people we worked with at a newspaper in the early 1990s. One of them, Dan Margolies, explained to me when the word “however” takes a comma and when it doesn’t. I don’t remember the lesson at all, but I think of Dan whenever I use that word. Another colleague was constantly using malapropisms (a big no-no in a newsroom, where we all love our words beyond reason). A third colleague would edit a story and say something like: “Here’s another tasty morsel for your delectation.” When I was done with an article I wrote last week, I could hear his voice in my head. His name was D.P. Breckenridge. I often worked with newspaper people who seemed like they walked out of a novel because of their odd assembly of quirks.

I hope getting older is like that: memories of people whom you were fond of and places that you relish (for me: Peru, Chile, Montana, Ireland) and friendships that calm your soul. I called one of my Pennsylvania friends this week. Nothing cheers me up more than hearing the voice of an old friend/comrade/compagnon de route. The latter phrase, learned in college, translates as fellow traveler. I’ve been lucky to have met so many exceptional people in my travels.
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