So, when I saw that they were coming to Norfolk last spring, I had to go.

The last time I had seen Dave (that’s what I call him, my pal, Dave) play was in NYC at Tramps  — the OLD Tramps, on 15th St. He was working out the Buster Poindexter persona, well before “Hot, Hot, Hot” came out.  I saw him play there all the time, and even crossed state lines to see him play live.

Those concert excursions were the most fun ever. The craziest one was a show on Martha’s Vineyard: My friend Anna and I mixed up a batch of whiskey sours and hit the road. There wasn’t room for the car on the ferry, so we walked on and took a cab across the island to the club.  We had brought bubbles and confetti and I remember Dave smiling down from the stage during “Personality Crisis” as we blew bubbles and threw confetti — it was a blast.  Afterward we stumbled out of the club, and there were no cabs to take us back to the ferry. So we walked for seven or eight miles, blowing bubbles, then napped on a bench. We took the first ferry back to our car and drove home.

I spent many weekends just like that back in the day.

So at the Norfolk show, I was expecting a crowd, I mean its the DOLLS! The legendary, influential New York Dolls!

My friends and I got there early to get good spot — and there was nobody there! The club was maybe a quarter full.  So the show was a bit of a disappointment. The sound wasn’t great and the the band seemed to be phoning it in.

But, I’d go again. And again and again.

In fact, I’m going on Friday to see him play in northern Virginia…

Celebrating this Father’s (and Grandfather’s) Day with Jesse and his dad Phil, I got to thinking about my own dad, and what an amazing, loving person he was. I think it says a lot that though I only knew the guy for four years, I can still remember the feeling of his cheek against mine.

Hopefully, Harvey will have so many more memories of his dad that these early tactile ones won’t have to hold all the love that these two share. But, still, it’s good to know that underneath all the memories that they will build together – from learning to walk to learning to drive – that one will be nestled cozily somewhere deep and warm.

Also: HAPPY FATHER’S DAY TO MY BROTHER DAN! His first, too!

And we did, fast. Goaded into sharing, among other things, the “most dangerous things” I have ever done by 15-year-old Chris (pictured above with the backpack), I scored cool points with my story of being held up at gunpoint by banditos in Mexico. But, when I answered “What’s your favorite movie?” with “Badlands by Terrence Malick” I just got a blank stare.

Chris was actually the inspiration for the workshop. Every time he would come for his appointment with LaShawn Butler, his Youth Development Specialist via the Foundling (and Liz’s workshop co-champion), Chris would ask her, “Have you seen my sister?” And every time his sister, Alex, would come to check in with LaShawn, she would ask, “So, have you seen my brother?”

When LaShawn realized that this brother and sister who came into her office monthly were worlds apart, she came up with the idea to create a structured environment where they – and countless other separated siblings – could meet up once a week and hang out.

Enter Liz Welch, a woman with boundless energy and an even bigger heart. With LaShawn’s help, Liz, an innately talented teacher, created a space where these kids not only felt comfortable sharing their saddest moments on the page, but also to a group of more than 100 strangers.

And so they did. In an auditorium at The Lighthouse in midtown, one by one they took the podium. There was 14-year-old Daquane, whose stage fright was so bad that he was hyperventilating a little bit over chicken fingers at Mickey Mantles. (You can kind of see how nervous he was in the picture above.) He and I joked about imagining the audience in their underwear, and Liz assured him that if he got too scared, she would read his piece for him. Well, Daquane was brave enough to get up onstage and read about the death of his little sister, a memory so raw that I could feel its burn from across the room. Daquane choked up midway through his (sincerely) beautifully written piece, so Liz, true to her word, took the paper from his hand and finished for him, tears running down her own cheeks.

Then there was Allyson who, about to be a mother herself, read a piece about her own mother’s struggle with crack. Allyson’s mother, now sober, was in the audience, and her pride in her daughter was vivid, despite how hard it must have been to hear, in front of all those people, exactly what she had put her daughter through.

All in all, ten kids read their work – one girl wrote about protecting her sister in various homes before they were eventually separated, another talked about the brother whom he has never met. Some brought tears, others laughter, but each writer moved the crowd enough that, after everyone was through reading, we all leaped to our feet to applaud the bravery and talent of these young writers.

You can see a video of the Foundling event, and meet a few of my new heroes, here.

To be honest, I was nervous to meet these kids at first because, frankly, my siblings and I had it so good. We were never put in to the system, never sent to institutionalized homes, never had to worry about getting shot on our way home from school. Sure, our parents died and it was really sad and other things happened that totally sucked, but we also had the leg up of access to private education and a big old trust fund, not to mention straight-up white privilege to help us along the way. These kids have none of that. But they do have intelligence, charm, and the desire to succeed. And they will — but, like anyone, they will only succeed with the help of those who believe in them.

Joking around with Allyson at Mickey Mantles, I asked her if Liz laid down the law during the workshop and treated them real mean like she is wont to do around my house. Knowing full well I was kidding, Allyson smiled and said, “Oh, yeah.” But then she told me the truth. “Every week, Liz would call me and be like: ‘Have you written this week?’ And I’d be like, ‘Yeeahhh.’ And then the day of class, she’d text me to make sure I was gonna to be there,” Allyson recounted, her smile widening. “Nobody’s ever done that before.”

This book has reconnected all of the Welches with so many familiar faces.  They pop up at readings, and most often make us laugh out loud with with a flood of memories that the familiar face elicits–”Remember that time when…. ”   A few times, though, I have fought back tears.  And once I choked down panic.  Our book has been out for ten months now.  I personally have done readings in Bedford, New York and Brooklyn; San Francisco and the deep South; Essex Vermont and East Hampton.  One in Coral Gables and four in Connecticut.  And every single one of them has surprised me somehow.

October 3, 2009. Borders, Mount Kisco, NY:  A slew of familiar faces–from those I immediately recognized–Dawn Enterlien, my fourth grade best friend!  Mr. Thomas, who put me up in Paris after my au pere job blew up.  We had heard from Brad Hayes that his mom might show up–would she be mad? Would Dan get upset?  She didn’t, but she did send an email that was so thoughtful that we asked her permission to publish it on our website.  The big surprise of that day came as we were signing books…  an older woman with a kind face approached me beaming.  ”Paul wishes he could be here,” she said.  It was Paul Martino’s mom. She asked me to sign a book for him….

October 5, 2009.  New Canaan Library, , Connecticut:  Diana had already flown home with Harvey so Sophie, Daisy Stewart’s 18-year-old daughter sat in for her.  Hearing that sweet voice read Diana’s words gave everyone the chills.  The room was once again packed with familiar faces–Joe Knezevic, the friend Amanda beat at mercy was there.  We read that section and then all, as if on cue, pointed to Joe as Dan read about Amanda flipping his wrists back and lifting him onto the kitchen counter.  As my face scanned the crowd, it caught on one face, beaming at me.  Kim Largay.  My Harvard roommate the summer of 1989.  Seeing her reminded me of all the pages that did not make it into the book:  like visiting her parents in Cape Cod, sick with a fever of 102 degrees. Like waking up in a delirious sweat to her sweet mom mopping my brow with a cool washcloth and asking me for my pediatrician’s name and number.  ”I don’t have one,” I said.  The shocked look on her face is one I will never forget. Or the amythest earrings she gave me the following year for my birthday.  Kim drove two hours to see me read in New Canaan…  it was almost impossible to say goodbye to her that night!  So many stories came flooding back:  like discovering our subletter’s porn collection underneath his bed.  Like listening to Grease the musical on the 8 track cassette tape deck in her parents’ ancient station wagon. Like the spring break we spent at Kim’s grandparents house in Saint Vincent.  I have met so many kind and generous people throughout my life–this book has reconnected me with many of them.

October 16th, 2009. Books, Inc.  San Francisco, CA:  Not only did my sister in law drive three hours from Chico with her family, but my dear friend and fellow Bedford escapee, Terry Gumz, put me and Dan up that night and then drove us to the airport the next morning after four hours sleep.  The turn out was worth it:  Alexis Woods packed the place with GU alumni.  I spotted Sean Foley in the crowd and welled up–a big bear of a guy, he lost his dad too early as well.  I remembered, upon seeing him, the moment he literally picked me up and spun me around when he heard I had won a fellowship to do my masters degree at GU.  He knew how much that meant.  Zane Vella, another GU pal, left a sweet note with the cashier, and Linda Kosut, Karen’s old roommate sat front row and center and then asked VERY personal questions during the Q&A. Jen Subin, Liz’s sister, sat beside her beaming.  Having her in the front row, along side Eddie and Billy, more old Bedford friends made my heart get bigger in my chest.  The bookstore was wowed by the turnout–80 people had showed up when they stopped counting.

October 17th, 2009. Book Soup, Los Angeles, CA.  Not only did Sally Brooks kill as Diana–and made Dan and I realize we need to use professional actors more often–but Sue Schillinger channeled Amanda and then put us up and fed us home made pasta.  My pal Samantha Peale, an amazing author–The American Painter Emma Dial now out in paperback!– came with two other literary lights, Veronica Gonzalez (twin time, or how death befell her) and Michelle Hueven (Blame) Susanne’s brother brought his whole family and Birgithe’s sister did too!  Which made me wish I had read the bunny chapter…

October 28th, 2009. Square Books, Oxford, MS:  Gideon and I went to Rowan Oak, my favorite spot in Oxford.  As we were wandering through Faulkner’s home, we heard another small group arrive. On our way out, we said hello and within minutes learned that they were also from Brooklyn, also writers.  She had heard of my book, he backed her up, explaining, ’she was just telling me about it!’  When Bob Guccione, Jr., who was in town to give a lecture to journalism students at Ole Miss, and Liza Lentini, his playwright partner who runs an incredible children’s theater, Elephant Ensemble in NY, showed up that evening and sat in the front row, my heart got even bigger.

There are too many small world moments to include–like Laura Thomas, Mr. Thomas’s daughter, coming to the reading in Essex where Liz Subin read for me, Laura Subin read for Diana and I finally got to swear as Amanda.  And then Eva said hello–Sean Foley’s college girlfriend!  And then these two sisters came bursting through the door. They had driven several hours from the Adirondacks and introduced themselves:  ”I am Liz!’  one said.  ”And I am Amanda,” the other chimed right in.  I invited them to have a glass of wine with me before the reading started:  Our story is similar to theirs. And I could tell by their smiles and their laughter, so is their resilience.

January 3oth, 2010.  Book & Books, Coral Gables, Florida.  I am fast forwarding to catch you all up to here as I realize my old friends are only bold-faced names to me!  And yet, this is the point of this post.  So many have come out to show their support–old friends, new friends.  Every single reading has been bursting with a whole lot of love. And tears.  Case in point:  I am sitting at a table on the lovely terrace at Book & Books having a pre-reading and so mandatory glass of wine.  I don’t get nervous, just emotional.  My college roommate, and still my best friend, Susanne organized this one, she is reading for Diana, her friend Jennifer as Amanda and I decided to do double duty as myself and Dan.  We are gabbing and laughing–my old friend Tania shows up with a bevy of her pals–when a couple approaches holding a manila envelope and a mink stole. It is Kris Medford, Aunty Eve’s son and the man who identified my father’s body the night he died, and his wife  Barbara. I burst into tears, and leapt up from the table to give them a hug. They brought old photos and lots of stories…  Cara and Bridget wanted to come, but Cara was 8 1/2 months pregnant and Bridget lived four hours away.  The mink stole was my mother’s–she gave it to Auntie Eve before she died. Barbara thought it was appropriate to give it back.  ”I live in Florida for Pete’s sake!” she said.  I held the mink in my hands and remembered my mom, before dad died, wearing it into the city, to the theater, to parties.  I fingered the embroidered initials–AWW for Ann Williams Welch–and fought the urge to bury my face in it to see if there was any scent, any familiar whiff of this woman whom so many people loved, not least of all me.

I have to stop now as that memory still brings back tears.  But there are more where that comes from.  Which I will post soon.

I met Liz just over 20 years ago in Edinburgh, Scotland while we were both doing our junior year abroad at Edinburgh University. We had some mutual friends, and while we both doggedly avoided hanging out with other Americans, we quickly fell into an easy friendship based on a common love of pints, travel, and making fun of Liz’s ridiculous flatmates (one used to time everyone’s showers – on a stopwatch –  then freak out about the hot water consumption).

Liz and I went on two road trips together that year. The first trip was in a tiny, rented car with two other friends, in the middle of a freezing, dark, Scottish January. As we sped away from Edinburgh and headed north toward the most northerly tip of Scotland, we discovered, oh joy, there was a tape deck! Then nearly cried when we realized we only had one tape. The Indigo Girls, no less. I can’t listen to Closer to Fine ever, ever again. We stopped for the first night in John O’ Groats at the tippy top of Scotland, where after a freezing night in the local hostel, took a boat across to one of the Orkney Islands. We hitched to these amazing Neolithic ruins in the middle of field and on the way back to the ferry, got caught in a horrendous frigid downpour – I still thank the kind farmer who picked us up and delivered us, soaked and bedraggled, back to the dock. We drove back south through the Highlands, complete with a spectacular, fog-wrapped view of Ben Nevis, the tallest mountain in the British Isles. We returned to Edinburgh on a Monday evening, happy, a little stinky, and full of stories. When I got back to my flat, my roommate Elsa greeted me and my friend Cat, who was with us on the trip, at the front door. She looked drawn. I sort of brushed it off, thinking she had a few late nights at the pub. She sat patiently while Cat and I chatted about our weekend. Then she took a deep breath, looked at us and said, “Sue’s dad killed himself over the weekend.” Sue was our other flatmate, a sweetheart from Dorset who grew up on a sheep farm and had spent the year before college working in Mother Theresa’s orphanage in Calcutta. I struggled to digest the news, Cat ran into the bathroom, and after sobbing for a good 10 minutes, I got mad. Mad at the thought that a parent would do that to their family, mad that I hadn’t been home that weekend to help Sue when she got the news. And after those thoughts swirled and settled down, I remember thinking how unfair it was to Liz. Her parents didn’t have the option of making that choice. I’m still mad about it.

Our second road trip was during the first week of our incredible four-week-long spring vacation. Liz and I met up in London at her mom’s friend Janey’s house in Kensington. What a beautiful, homey place, smack in the middle of town. I twice soaked in this huge white clawfoot tub, and for years after that visit, bought the Crabtree and Evelyn coconut oil shampoo Liz had perched on the edge of that tub. We headed west from London in Janey’s car. We stopped for gas. We drove a little more. We stopped for gas. We drove a little more. WE STOPPED FOR GAS. On and on this went, both of us panicking we were going to run out of money before we’d even eaten anything or paid for a hostel, Liz pipes up, “What’s that thing?” pointing at the choke. It was pulled all the way out. We laughed til it hurt. After the choke fiasco, and settling into a good rhythm heading west toward Bath and Cornwall, Liz told me the story of her family. She was driving at this point(thank God, I think I would have taken down a few fences and sheep had I been behind the wheel), and I’ll always remember her profile as she talked. She was so calm, so solid, and so enrapturing. She talked without interruption, I think, for at least an hour. I sat with my legs crossed, often silently crying, and looking at her with a sense of awe. How did she get through that? How is she dealing with it now? How does she go on? This was only about five years after her mom died…and here she was, strong, graceful, and so articulate about the most painful things any child could experience.  I’ve always adored Liz, and now after reading the book, meeting her kick-ass, wonderful siblings, I adore her that much more.

Here she is, all smiles from the very beginning.

These arms are always open for a hug. Also, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to post a picture of her in a bikini!

Another hug, another bikini. This is a great example of the warmth that this gal brings to any situation. Look, she’s making Amanda smile! (Though not rare in real life, Amanda is not one for smiling in photographs. And you all KNOW how she felt about her little sister at this point in time!)

Ah, yes. The famous catalog shoot that began and ended Liz’s modeling career. She is wearing turquoise jeans, btw.  Young Brooke Sheilds, for realz!

Heh, heh. Prom. She’s seriously going to kill me for this one.

Liz in front of her home in Long Island. It’s a happy place. Look at that grin!

Here’s Liz and me in Marfa, Texas, where we finished writing The Kids are All Right. We were trying to take an author photo of the two of us. This one, needless to say, was not a contender. (Note my chin.)

And here’s our beautiful sis on her wedding day. There seriously and in all honesty has never been a more beautiful bride!

WE LOVE YOU LIZ!!! HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

That day, all four Welches met up in Washington DC to begin the launch on the Diane Rehm show.  That interview still gives me goosebumps!  Diana turned 32 the very next day and we celebrated in Brooklyn before our book party at the Pyramid on October 1st.  That weekend, we read to packed and teary-eyed crowds in Bedford, Rye, and New Canaan ,where we were hugged by countless familiar faces. Thus began our marathon book tour that zig zagged across the country.  I am still in awe that 90 people came to Aldo’s in Greenport, 80 to Books Inc in San Francisco and another 30-plus in Los Angeles, where I also had the giddy pleasure of taping a show at NPR’s Market Place with Diana and shaking hands with Tess Vigeland and Bill Radke!

Even more thrilling was seeing old friends in Oxford AND Greenwood, Mississippi, and then Essex, Vermont where Libby and Deb, two sisters with a very similar story, drove more than two hours to have their books signed.  Deb marched up to me at the Pheonix Book Store and said, “I’m Diana” and then Libby chimed in, “and I am Liz!”  Their brother is actually called Dan, and their Amanda could not come, but our story touched them to their core as they too lost their parents and were separated after the deaths.  They have one more sister, and all five siblings are closer than ever. They are more than all right, too. We have heard from so many people who have similar stories, and still receive daily emails from friends, fans, and folks who knew us or our mom.

Other 2009 highlights include a jam-packed reading at the Hotel San Jose in Austin where Diana cast her friends as her siblings. Following suit, I did the same at The Half King in New York where the literary stars who blurbed our book read for Dan (Sean Wilsey), Amanda (Heidi Julavits) and Diana (Daphne Beal).  My dear friend, the author Laurie Sandell, blogged about it, God Bless her.

That was the start of the holiday season and our gifts came early–Amazon chose us as one of their Best Books of 2009, as did Sean Wilsey for Salon.  Vanity Fair did us double honors: First by asking us to read for their Reading Room series, and then by choosing our book as their “Top Ten Books to read on your Holiday vacation.”  I wrote the Op Ed story about my mom and the death of soap operas on a lark, never thinking they’d actually go for it… imagine my surprise when I learned that the story would run on the same day our mom died, December 13th, twenty-four years later.  The emails came pouring in–Judy Lewis, John Cunningham and Courtney Simon and other acting friends of mom shared beautiful memories of our mom, as did the son and daughter of Mary Stuart, the star of “Search for Tomorrow.” People got in touch who adopted our pets after dad died, a caddy sent a hilarious note thanking us for the book, and recalling how he more than once carried our mom’s golf clubs at the Bedford Golf and Tennis club.  Those stories are precious as each memory of our mother fills in a new blank spot, offering us a rare glimpse of a woman we knew not long enough.  (The caddy called her a stone-cold fox, John Cunningham, her husband on “Loving,” said she was the most graceful of women.)

What else?  Well, Megan Flinn and Lizann Rodes, two friends from Georgetown, hosted a reading in my honor at Megan’s home in Pennsylvania where 60 friends came to listen to me read, with Megan channeling Diana, and Lizann doing an excellent Amanda.  The following day, I had lunch with the GREAT Pat Towers, formerly the Features Editor of O Magazine and now hosting her own radio show, Reading, Writing and Definitely NOT Arithmetic, of which I had the GREAT honor of being her first guest. There are so many more amazing things that have happened over the past few months–from our appearance on Good Morning America to the surprise Entertainment Weekly spread.

All this to say, we Welches are thankful for all the love and the support. And for one another.  May 2010 be as happy and healthy and full of giddy surprises for everyone.

To start, we are all closer than ever. Here is a photo from my wedding day, May 30, 2009.

But I am jumping way ahead!  People want to know about the years immediately after Diana showed up in Virginia wearing bloochers and headbands: Well, after two miserable years at the uber preppy Saint Annes, Diana transferred to Tandem, a super liberal school in Charlottesville where she was one of a dozen students in her class.  Doc Martins and torn jeans quickly replaced the penny loafers and plaid kilts.  Amanda had one house rule–no tattoos–which Diana quickly broke, inking a star on the top of her foot with a needle and indigo in the tenth grade. 

You can read Amanda’s take on Thanksgiving here, and you can read Joe Gross’ take on how Diana is perceived in Austin here.

We love to celebrate the holidays with food and cooking together. Our parents always made a big deal of the holiday meals and we have continued that tradition, changing it a bit and creating our own traditions along the way.

Food memories are very strong for me (and I think my siblings). For me, it’s not Thanksgiving without Mom’s stuffing, which I made for my contribution to the meal. For Liz, its not Christmas without Mom’s Pumpkin Bread. In our many moves and transitions, somehow we have lost her recipe. I’ve tried many different over the years, some that I actually prefer, but it has all become muddy now. I have one that Aunty Eve sent me before she died that she thought was a good representation. She made little notes in the margins about how Mom made it. (Like how Mom used butter, not oil, and a glass loaf pan). I haven’t made it in a few years, but perhaps I shall for Liz this year.

Here is that recipe:

“Special Pumpkin Bread”

Combine the following in a large bowl:4 large eggs (lightly beaten), 1 16oz can of pumpkin, 2 Cups sugar, 3/4C vegetable oil (butter), 2/3 Cups water. Mix well

Combine the following in another bowl: 3 1/3 cups unbleached flour, 2 tsps Baking soda, 3/4/tsp salt, 2 tsps pumpkin pie spice, 1 tsp ground nutmeg, 1 tsp ground cinnamon. Mix well.

Add the flour mixture  to the pumpkin mixture and stir until well-blended. Stir in 1 C chopped pecans.

Spoon batter into 2 greased 9″ X 5″ X 3″ loaf pans and bake at 350 for an hour or until a wooden toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Cool in the pans for 10 minutes and then turn out to cool on racks.

Enjoy! And Happy Holidays