Got my notecards and everything

I'm giving this speech at a birthday party later tonight. I've never given a speech that wasn't homework before. I'm worried about details like, Is three minutes too long? What if the birthday girl can't hear me because I just had a cold and my voice is a croak and she is 90? Fluster.

"The first time I talked to Anna, it was homework. For my history class, I had to talk to someone who had lived through World War II. So I called Anna, at my dad’s suggestion. Now, most of you are probably familiar with Anna’s stories of World War II. That she was 18, in the resistance movement in Nazi-occupied Warsaw, smuggling weapons around the city, and doing other things that sounded really glamorous to a 15-year-old high school freshman. I remember feeling my entire life view of what a young woman can do rearranged and amplified exponentially during that interview.

Since then, she has become a dear friend and one of the most influential people in my life. In talking to friends, I’ve tried and failed to express how much I love and admire her countless times. I’ve adopted the word “slush,” (that would be Anna’s word for “slut” and “lush”) for my own personal use. She’s been the inspiration for everything remotely crazy that I’ve ever done, and when I’ve needed to push myself past fear, I’ve always thought of her and felt braver. Knowing her has taught me many things, not the least of which is that when we make mistakes, that’s not the end of the world, because at least we’ll grow from that experience. Anna has always encouraged me to grow.

When I was in South Africa two years ago and had the privilege to stand in the same room as Archbishop Desmond Tutu, a Nobel Peace Prize winner, I immediately wrote her to to say that his personality reminded me so much of her own warm, generous humor. It was uncanny. And I could keep going forever. Knowing her has been such a privilege and a joy. My only regret is that I’ve never traveled with her – I think the two of us would have gotten into some marvelous trouble together. I hope when I am 90, I am even a tenth as big-hearted, fearless, and “slushy” as she is today. Happy birthday Anna. I love you."

Old/Young

Robins, both of them, found a white hair on my head. I found it too, later. It's three inches long and sticks straight out. I will probably hunt for it in the mirror out of odd vanity, the way I do the one white hair I discovered on my wristbone last summer.

I alternate between feeling very old and very young. My sister expressed a similar sentiment at Christmas. She's teaching high school in rural Mississippi, speaks jadedly of feeling lucky when one student understands her lesson and follows directions, agrees when I wonder whether it feels like pulling "whatever you can save" from a burning building.

In retrospect, fire metaphors are not good for her - she lost a house in Minneapolis that way three Decembers ago. Then, she saved her roommates and a pair of boots.

Anyway, later we both have a little much wine at dinner, and traipse mercilessly onto topics that are not necessarily appropriate for Christmas. Young young young.