FORGETTING YOUR KEY IN LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP. PLUS A RAFFLE!
Turns out, Neko Case once lived here too.
Most of my newsletters begin as love letters to my friendships, my way of introducing you to some humans I am absolutely crazy about and who write exquisitely about what it feels like to be feral children.
This missive is no different.
In 2001, I cashed in a 401K saved from six years working at Planned Parenthood and spent part of my assets on an Omega Institute writing retreat led by Lynda Barry. I didn’t particularly know what my future work would look like, but I wished to discover what concealed creativity was lounging around off-duty beneath the surface. The retreat took place within a slightly insulated part of Omega’s eclectic Summer Arts Week. It was at this writing camp I met a proletariat old-girl network of artists and musicians, a pleasing contrast to the usual suspects roaming the garden paths in this peculiar place filled with New Age energy healers, metaphysical enthusiasts, and people wishing to conquer their fears by way of sky-high trapeze maneuvers. Lynda tended to attract a subset of folks who were not as concerned about their quartz crystal collections as they were about unorthodox comic books; she stood out exceptionally for me amongst the faculty.
On Omega’s campus, I took long walks through the woods, filling my lungs with the smell of green walnuts, a surreal blend of cardamom and lime. It was both challenging and easy to make new friends here, enclosed for five days with a group of seventy other writers who had just barely met. On the third day, I was invited to the cabin where Lynda herself was staying with a group of friends who had scheduled a tour around the dates of the workshop. I had already quietly singled out most of them because these were the people who laughed out loud at the same demented stories bringing me the most LOLs. Having summoned me to their inner sanctum, I found this assembly on the porch of one of the modest cabins Omega gives to their visiting teachers, and we spent the afternoon reading our writing out loud, an impossibly fantastic way to get to know anybody. One member of this bunch was Neko Case, who would go on to become my lifelong friend.
Neko and I met in the café for ice cream and goodbyes on our last day of the workshop. We exchanged books, CDs, and phone numbers with a promise to stay in touch. On occasion, life hands you absolute delight in another person, and you don’t want to lose track. It can sometimes feel courageous and bold to seek out new close friendships as adults.
My friendship with Neko grows taller and more rooted with each decade. We have made art and traveled together, sought out each other’s advice on matters of great consequence, and laughed until tears rolled down our faces. We have trusted one another to edit work and have the utmost regard for each other’s creativity. I have written books and inaugurated projects in her house when she has given me, many times over, the gift of an artist’s retreat on her farm. She has sewn iridescent spandex costumes in my living room and helped me quit sugar about 15 times. Our brains are both often churning multiple projects at once; we share this oft-times maddening state of mind and understand how to give each other grace and compassion with a hint of cheerleading. Neko was the sheepherder who coaxed me into starting a Substack a year ago, and I am grateful for that nudge, reluctant as I was initially. Neko has a beautiful Substack, Entering The Lung, a prescription against a sometimes merciless world.
Neko and I have spent a week together at the conclusion of each year for decades, now chosen family. I began writing this in Vermont at the end of 2023, a challenging year for so many. Neko had built for me a surprise birthday chamber in her studio entitled “Jaxxy’s Craftmageddon,” an entire room of inspiration, sculpture plinths, and a mini-fridge filled with seltzer, apples, and olives.
This was her gift to me, redoing my 50th birthday since the weight of a complex illness had ground the celebrations of both my 50th and 51st birthdays to a halt. I turned 52 eating gluten-free carrot cake, making crafts on long tables of art supplies, listening to mix tapes, and taking regular walks to nearby thrift stores for more materials to integrate into a freshly evolving project. I was trying out a new art form. I began making small sculptures out of found objects, an idea I had been incubating for several months, unsure when the internal creative engine would rev back into gear. It is a full spectrum away from last year's gargantuan project. I will post daily photos on Instagram if you wish to follow along.
Neko and I sat down last year to record a conversation for Oldster Magazine about aging and friendship. I think it’s a fun listen.
I am going to try something new with this newsletter. For both new and previously paid subscribers, you can read Neko’s LATCHKEY TOWNSHIP story and enter a randomized raffle.
One randomly selected paid subscriber will win a customized sculpture made from found objects that once belonged to both Neko and myself. You have until January 29, when I will contact the winner. All paying subscribers will be entered into this BREATHTAKING CONTEST!!
If you have not yet become a paid subscriber, now is the time! Maybe it is the first contest you are entering for 2024! How thrilling!
Take care, and best of luck!
If you are the lucky winner, I will reach out so that the mini sculpture may be customized just for you! I will mail the sculpture to the winner by the end of February.
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