A lovely person found and returned a Moleskin notebook I lost a couple of years ago. My name and address were in the front of the little black book. I received the notebook in the mail today with a short note. Here it is:

Hi there

I saw this notebook when I was cleaning out the Lost and Found at Bar Toto. So I thought I would send it along to you.

P.S. Will the $1,000,000 dollar reward be paid in installments or in full?

I just looked in the notebook and  under reward I did write: $1,000,000.

Bar Toto is a restaurant/bar on Sixth Avenue and 11th Street. I was there maybe two years ago on a Tuesday night with two friends from Writer’s Group. In fact, the last note in the notebook says; "Sideways, Aviator, Montepulciano D’abruzzi"  (that must have been the wine we were drinking that night).

Thank you, Bar Toto friend. A small reward is forthcoming. I am very happy to have this Moleskin back.  There wasn’t much in the way of personal information or introspective poetry. But it’s chock full of reminders of what I was doing about two years ago, including:

Some really random thoughts, an accounting of all the money we spent while vacationing in Northern California; notes from an October trip to San Francico for a cousin’s wedding, information about writing for the OpEd column of the New York Times and the City section, phone numbers and emails I am happy to have, notes from a Community Bookstore meeting after the 2004 elections (adopt a red state, red state/blue state Penpals), drawings by OSFO, lots of lists, notes about high school admissions, sketches for handmade antidepressant cases I was planning to design and manufacture — man this notebook is a time capsule — and these words jotted down:

Pink clouds above Altamont Pass. High tech windmills spin like ballet dancers. Flying alone felt like an advenutre. Just me. Excitement. Freedom. A view different from Third Street. A break from teenage angst and needy children (love them as I do. I too need a little independence, a little space).

Hugh takes pictures out the car window. We’re caught in rush hour on the 580 to Tracy. One hand on the wheel, he clicks with the other capturing the light, the tilt up architecture, the suburban sprawl…

Someday you will see the farm (in pictures or for real) and you’ll understand the grip this part of the world seem to have on me, Brooklyn girl than I am.