"My job does not define me."--Meg Wolitzer, THE INTERESTINGS

There’s something about the first weeks of September—like a tide turning quietly in the soul. A slight chill in the morning air. The whisper of endings, beginnings, and the thin veil between memory and momentum. This past week, I found myself drifting between spreadsheets and cinema, old friends and silent heartbreaks, the present moment and a wave of nostalgia stirred by a single printed page from my cousin Mary Ann Gehling’s Dear Diary novel, set in November 1900.

Let me start where I left off...

Alan is now studying for his Series 7. We just returned from Gloria's Yom Kippur dinner, breaking the fast with reflections and spring travel plans. Gloria is already plotting her next trip—Paris in April or May 2000. She might bring Jack for the first week and spend the rest of the time alone. A brave thing to do==or maybe necessary.

Alan and I visited a new place Dan C took us to—Blue Palms in West Hollywood. He quoted Alan 15%  as a design fee for the interior design of the new Tribeca, NY loft.  Dan made it sound like it is a phenomenal rate.  I have no idea.  Dan is quite the character I must say.

Alan thinks Dan is in love with his business partner. However, the partner currently has a 40 year old boyfriend so that places Dan out-of-the-picture. But Dan’s entanglements seem messier—he’s also involved with a 19-year-old in Miami, and apparently paying $300 a night for dancers at the Gaiety (after they do their stripping show). At some point, the numbers become numbing.

Tomorrow, Alan and I will call Annabelle at 66 Leonard in New York City to see if we can convince her to remove the wall we don’t want. A silly battle, perhaps, but in design—like life—it’s the smallest spaces that matter most.

This week reminded me that memory is elastic. September stretches us between what was and what could be. Between old dinner tables and new design walls. Between Gipsy Kings concerts and Yom Kippur silences. Between the people who once loved us and the ones who never quite knew how.

As I light my candles tonight and sip a quiet glass of wine, I’ll remember the most important things—love, forgiveness, clarity.

A photo arrived in the mail of our men's group at the Golden Door.  That was such a magical week between swimming pool volleyball, hikes, dance, exercise routines that included weight training and boxing in addition to spa treatments daily.  We all looked transformed from the day we arrived to the day we left.  I like the group photo:  

Back Row:  Leo Walsh, Richard Bieder, Jeff Ayeroff, Ron deSalvo, Alan Freiman.  

Center Row:  joe Weiss, Marshall Ezralow, William Kelly, Alberto Andrade, Michael Joe Armijo, Bruce Eich, Dan Cuevas, John Bennett.  

Front Row:  Ted Pedas, Jerry Watson, Howard Stern, Gordon Diamond, Russell Hilliard, Stan Zack. 

And then came a letter from my dear friend Monty Ng in Bangkok, updating me on the ongoing economic downturn in Thailand and Southeast Asia. He sells premium and stationery products to stores like Makro and Tesco, and the economic ripple from China’s tightening grip has made survival an uphill battle.

"I’m still running my own business in Thailand… though the economy is in turmoil… I’m trying to take pre-emptive action against another round of downturn."

Monty is hoping to move to Canada permanently and work in California if a visa becomes available. His handwritten note asked about personal income taxes for Canadian permanent residents working in the U.S.—he’s trying to dream pragmatically.

He closed his letter with humility:

"Take care of yourself and write me when you can."
–Monty

I haven’t seen Monty since we met in October 1989, nearly ten years ago, on a shuttle bus from LAX. We bonded during that brief ride and somehow, despite the years and miles, we’ve maintained the kind of friendship that asks nothing of you but presence.

I reflected on Monty in my journal the other day:

"It’s funny—I haven’t seen the guy since ’89, yet here we are, still writing. It’s fascinating how people move from here to there… That’s what makes the world go round."

He’s thinking of becoming a Canadian citizen. I’m thinking of how rare and beautiful it is to remain in touch with someone you never see. Part of me is excited for him. Part of me aches for that kind of determined optimism.  As Monty looks to Canada and California, I find myself re-rooting in New York. I’ve always believed:

“New York City is singularly the most international metropolis. Yes, there’s Paris. There’s London. But there’s only one New York—and it truly has it all.”

In a world full of shifting currencies, divorces in fast motion, and overpriced Gatsby dancers, maybe that’s what we hold onto: the letters we keep, the cities we return to, the soups that surprise us.

And maybe, just maybe, the people we meet once… but never really lose.

Until next time,
Michael

It is always sad to leave the places where one has dwelt. --Maurice Leblanc, THE SECRET OF SAREK