Dear Readers, When I was a sixth-grader, I developed an advice column for our fledgling school paper where I wrote both the inquiry letters and responses. Inspired by Abby Van Buren and E. Jean Carroll, I wished to carve my own pathway to poring over reader letters and offering my well-crafted perspectives, and as an eleven- year-old sage, I relished the opportunity to try my hand at this format. But full transparency, none of the students at Grantham Middle School ever wrote to me. I made up all of the letters from readers.
However, from the very first day this column was published, I began receiving letters and emails from real-live actual readers! I wasn’t even aware that my column had gone to print when I received an email notification from Carlton Carl in Martindale, to congratulate me on my column, relish in his fond nostalgia of summers in Portugal and offer suggestions of what to call my column. Sadly, Mr. Carl passed away this spring, and when I heard the news, I went straight back to my inbox to savor his kind words. I truly relish the engagement that this column fosters, and I am honored to collect your messages.
This week, one message that arrived in my DMs reminded me of something worth sharing: People are indeed watching us — quietly rooting for us, from across the room, across the river and across the world:
K. Stone,
I saw you on one of your solo San Marcos swims, three summers ago. I didn’t approach, because I was deep in a thing with my then husband. Well, and also deep in another part of the river. And also already late for a dinner date deep in the hills of Wimberley.
But. I internet stalk you, laugh and cry at your posts, and f***ing adore the path you are carving through the dark, thick jungle of this insane life, and wanted to say so.
Likewise, when we were little, I was across the room from you twice, once at the Triple Crown and once at an 80’s party.
I’ve like, nearby but never closeup, been a fan of you for a loooong time.
All of this is to say I’m giving you an endless, timeless, big fem energy WOOT and I love you.
One day we’ll sit and giggle together, I just know it.
Til then, dear one… -AHThat’s
right, y’all. I’m not crying; you’re crying. I read this as I was spreading out to take up space under the train bridge to spend some time getting in my Sunday Services at the “Church of River,” and as I sat on the limestone steps, welling up with tears, another San Martian mom, whom I knew from our homeschooling day, strolled by and exclaimed, “Kelly Stone! What are you doing here?” It hit me like a love song to women witnessing women, this serendipity where a river literally runs through our connection of sisterhood and support.
So maybe that sixthgrade advice columnist in me wasn’t entirely off base. She just needed a few decades, heaps of heartbreak, thousands of river baptisms, and a local paper taking a chance on her to find her readers. Thank you, for being here.
If you’ve been covertly watching from across the room (or the internet), consider this your nudge to say hello, howdy, hi, and bom dia. Send me a letter, a question, a story, a shout from the deep end. We’re in this together, and I think that sharing with each other is the write thing to do! Also, see you on the river.
XOXO,
Kelly Stone is an educator, comedian, mother, and author who loves the heck outta the river. She welcomes e-letters at kellystone.org or kellystonecomedy@gmail. com and adores handwritten notes, postcards, and neat patches via good ol’ snail mail: R dos Combatentes da Gr. Guerra 47, FRAC R, Aveiro, Portugal 3810-087.
