20 years go by with your friend, and wow, you are pretty much family at this point. That's what it feels like. Like, those sewing classes you took at Emily Griffith Technical School, when your head ping-ponged between the sewing teachers as they vied for power and authority. Or that time you decided to make Christmas PJ pants, calling yourself Elf Co. while listening to 93.3 to the very band, OneRepublic, you'd see in 2026 at the Hollywood Bowl.

First, there’s the poem. HOUSE OF MIRTH (1st Version) “What is it worth, this house of mirth when at the door life comes no more and silence rings and ears do sting, The bell, they do abhor?” ~ S. A. McNutt Then there’s the memory that surrounds it. This is my husband’s favorite poem. He’d quote it back to me across the years. Did I write it in our first Colorado apartment, scribbled in a notebook? What about all the times I struggled with the second stanza?