Old friends.

We had dinner with an old friend tonight. When I say old, I mean it two ways. One, he is 12 years older than me. Two, I’ve known him for a really long time — since 1981. In fact, we dated back in the day. Twice really. Once in college for a year or two and once after my divorce for a while. He’s a terrific guy. He and Andrew have become great friends and he adores our kids. (He has no kids of his own.)

When I was almost 21 and he was 33, my mother might have been annoyed at the age difference, but truly, the gap was not that big. We both liked the same things – music, movies, food. We got along great.

But tonight, I had to laugh. When we all sat down, he asked me what it meant to Google someone. “Can you really find out everything about someone on the Internet?” he asked. Andrew patiently explained some basics. And then, Andrew said the “B” word. Blog. Our friend looked at him blankly. He told us he’d never been in a chat room. One of our boys laughed and told him that blogs weren’t chat rooms. Another kid told him that I have a blog. And that Davis does too. And even that I have blogger friends.

Now, the poor man was distraught. He had no idea what we were talking about. The 8-year-old explained. Still, blank stares.

Then Reed mentioned Steakbellie. And Gnightgirl. Not that the boys read those, but they hear your names. And Davis mentioned Neil and even that Neil’s birthday was this week.

But then, our friend asked how one might find a blog. We talked about following blogrolls and searching. We talked about alerts. I don’t think he’ll be reading this, or any, blog. But just in case, welcome! You know I’m making fun of you with my heart in the right place.

And I’ve learned two important lessons. One is that the kids listen to every single word that I say. (Unless it’s directed toward them.) And the other is that age difference is about your life and your choices, not chronology.

Windy.

Ciao. Goodbye. Sayonara. I’m outta here. Heading to Chicago for some seminars. I’ve had this on my calendar for some time. But last week, my best friend (I haven’t seen her for almost a year but talk to every day), told me she’d meet me there. Yeah! Unfortunately, I might need to miss a couple of sessions – I predict a serious headache. Wink. Wink.

Back in college, some people used to call me Chicago. It all started when I worked at Hababa’s – a grungy bar near the campus. I was dating the DJ, Rocco, and the bouncer (who I can totally picture, and his last name was Savage, but can’t tell you his first name for anything!) started calling me that. “Chicago” I asked him why. He told me years later.

Chicago is the “Windy” City.

He was a great bouncer. Not such a great speller.

Girlfriends in the kitchen.

I’m not much of a cook. I bake bread and have a couple of old-standbys, but as I’ve mentioned before, I’m an great recipe picker-outer. And I love hanging out in the kitchen.

My virtual assistant sent her newsletter out today. In it, she pointed me to Girlfriends in the Kitchen, a new cookbook that will be filled with stories by women about their memories and experiences in the kitchen with friends and family. Of particular interest are those times you shared, or observed, with your mother, grandmother, aunts, cousins, friends, or other women who are part of your life.

Intrigued? Submit a story!