Grin Like The Cheshire Cat

It was an interesting complement to make, when, over two decades ago in group therapy, the therapist said, "You're just like the Cheshire Cat. When you smile, everything disappears."

Okay, I thought. I like that. I went on and on smiling to all kinds of people. No matter how I felt, I smiled. While working as a desk clerk in the New York Hilton, people always commented on my smile. "You're so happy!" They'd say. Walking down the Westside of Central Park one afternoon a tall black man said, "I love your smile," among other things. "Keep smilin', baby."

Just the other day I was laughing at something my daughter did, and my son said, "I like you when you laugh. You don't laugh very much. You should do it more often."

Where did the well-spring run off and disappear to. Where has my undeflected smile gone.

Two years ago while camping in the Dutch forest The Hoge Veluwe, there was a sign in the office. "Practice smiling everyday. It improves the mood. Try it, and you'll see." I tried it immediately, and I must say that it seemed to work momentarily.

You've heard it before, smiling is good for the soul. Children in families that laugh more grow up happier and healthier.

It's taken me more than twenty years to realize, until seeing this photo last Friday of me standing in front of the miniature Freedom Palace at Madurodam, The Hague, that the therapist was right! My smile here really does resemble that of the Cheshire Cat's as depicted in illustrations. How very funny that I should be reminded of it after all these years.

Here I am giving myself advice once again. I'll have to work on keeping the smile there. My winning smile. It's a shame to allow it to completely disappear.

Robot Zoo

Here's a bit of excitement. Yesterday we went to the Robot Zoo at the Museon in The Hague. You can control the animal robots yourself remotely. Just like in a conventional zoo, there's no feeding or petting allowed.

Slow Jo Clo

Earlier this year I met Pankaj Mishra at a festival in The Hague. Ever since reading The Romantics in 1996 I've admired his writing and read nearly all of his articles in The New York Review of Books. My father's colleagues helped him while he was a fellow at the NYPL, and my sister took care of Barbara Epstein, his mentor, while she was dying of lung cancer. I've also always had an interest in Indian politics, and one of my former professors is an expert on Kasmir.

I was very nervous meeting Pankaj, and was unable to drive across the first impression I dreamt of beforehand. What was I expecting. But somehow I always have this fantasy, and I'm sure it's not uncommon, that I'll meet someone like him whom I've admired for so long, and he'll be just as happy to meet me, and in one glittering moment he'll recognize something unique in me and want to be friends... Perhaps it's just an overactive imagination, but I swear he noticed me sitting there in the audience.

Of course none of this happened. And besides, from close up you can see all of my large pores, and acne scars, and then it's all over, the admiration from afar of the blond beauty.

It was all such a disappointment I've decided catching glimpses of people, and then introducing myself, doesn't do me any good.

When I told him I was a writer, too, he asked if I'd written a novel, and I said, no, but I'm working on one. To which he replied, "Oh, so you're a slow writer." Yes, Pankaj, I am a slow writer.