It’s a crisp and overcast Saturday morning when I pull up to the house Lane Delmonico shares with her partner Ted Barker. His Oma and Opa once owned it, and now they rent it from Ted’s mom.
Lane welcomes me through the door, leading me to her kitchen for coffee. She’s laid out fruit on a platter for us, and I completely forget to help myself to it, even though I want to. I’m absorbed by our conversation instead. She asks if I’d like a plain cup of coffee or latte style and steams milk for me at a small espresso machine next to the fridge.
We sit in the sunroom. More than a dozen of the sparkly glazed studs Lane is known for are laid out on a heavy tile. We drink our coffees, chatting about teaching, and the time Lane spent in France, and how important creativity is to our sense of purpose, and so on.
Later, as I get my things together to leave, Lane thanks me for what must be the third time, and asks if I’m a hugger.
Yes. Yes, I am.
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