Six Degrees of Separation

     One of the pleasures of growing older is that the ‘six degrees of separation’ thing happens more frequently.  We meet people who know our people, who have lived where we once lived, or who have traveled to the same off-the-beaten-path places.  As our life experiences expand, the world seems to contract at a corresponding rate.  I love it!
     And now, it’s apparently not just the people I meet in person, but the people I meet through reading.  Take the book my new friend Kitt gave me for Christmas, Living in a Foreign Language by Michael Tucker.  I had so many six degree experiences as I read it that I almost feel I should invite Mr. Tucker and his wife, Jill Eikenberry to Oysterville for dinner.  Almost.
     Of course, in the first place, there was the name recognition thing.  Nyel and I were faithful “L.A. Law” viewers and so I felt from the get-go that I ‘knew’ these people.  Then came the description of the Hollywood celebrity thing and its aftermath.  Not that I know about that first-hand but I’ve heard so many similar stories from my Emmy-award-winning son and his friends, it was only a degree or two off.
     Then there was the living in Marin County.  I grew up in San Rafael.  Granted, that was in the days before ‘Marin’ meant anything to anyone beyond the Bay Area.  But, I still go back frequently to visit friends and family and, in between visits, I miss those oak trees and brown hills and all the positive energy.  Maybe four degrees off.
     The New York piece I couldn’t relate to as closely.  I have cousins who were and are in the theater scene in the Big Apple, but I don’t think that quite counts.  However, the Italy piece was huge.  In the fifties I traveled and lived in Italy for some months struggling with the language, and making that glorious discovery that by just trying, doors and hearts would open to me.
     Later, my son, like the Tuckers’ daughter, went to the American School in Rome for a year and made a lifetime Italian friend.  It was in Italy that I first learned about ‘slow food’ and really ‘got’ the concept of ‘eating local.’  And when my friends bought a small place outside of Paris in the seventies, I considered for a time trying to do the same thing, but in Italy.
     As I finished the book, I felt I had made new acquaintances.  I went to Facebook to see if I could thank the author.  I found his page and then I got all shy and didn’t write after all.  I am reminding myself how much I enjoy hearing from people who have read my books and I am trying to convince myself that I should just do it.  It’s harder, though, when the shoe is on the other foot.