"I am the blunderer,/ yeah the blunderer,/ I blunder around around around around around around around..."

So after Swift's I went to The Gate with a couple people. As we went in I whispered to fulminous that I was taking bets on the number of Sarah Lawrence grads in the place, and I counted five, including Luke and Jeb and I.

Anyway, I slept at Bill's that night, and woke up bright and early to go to Sarah Lawrence the next day.

Last week I'd called J.- my old boss, and the woman who helped pay for college when I was in a bind one year- only to get an odd message saying that her calls were all being routed to the library's director. I called the front desk.

"Hi, can I speak with J.?"
"Oh, J.? Sorry, she hasn't been here in months."
"She... may I ask why not?"
"Let me put you through to the assistant director..."

So of course I thought J. was dead. She'd had surgery for a blood clot in her legs two years ago, and naturally not told me about it until after the fact. But as it turned out, J. had a stroke a few months ago (on her birthday) and is still recovering. I called her. She sounded barely conscious and a little trapped on the phone, but agreed to let me take her out for lunch.

First thing I did on Friday morning was go see Karen, my mentor. She was surprised to see me, and while she went out of her way to eschew the trappings of celebrity, she was very proud to give me a copy of her book about test mice and a recording of a debate she did on NPR a few months ago. She thinks I should teach, and said she wouldn't give me a recommendation for law school because she had no idea how I'd perform. She complained about the Yonkers school system. I told her about Florida. We hugged, and I wandered around for awhile.

It was the first time I'd been back to SLC since I graduated. The first thing I noticed was how young all the undergrads looked. I mean, I would've put them all at sixteen. Made me wonder whether the college was bringing in a lot of overachievers or whether high school is receding from me.

I had lunch with J., who didn't want to talk about the stroke because she'd had enough of talking about the stroke. Her sons watch her like a hawk (they hate me, incidentally, because she helped me with college and I think they're jealous.) It was pleasant. We were trading book recommendations within minutes, though I don't think she's been reading much lately. I need to send her Cloud Atlas. Her car got stuck in Tuckahoe and I tried for an hour to start it. She took the seat and got it started on the first try while I was heading to the police station to beg them not to ticket a sixty-year-old stroke victim.

After lunch I walked to the bookstore to see my old boss and Bob, my coworker who I love with all my heart despite (or maybe because of) his crankiness. We caught up for an hour or two. It was still raining when I left for the city.