Carol Kirkpatrick, possibly the brightest writer I ever met in a writing group (proof positive being her ability to scribble out a pithy, brilliantly crafted story on the spot) had the additional charm of treating me to an oral history of Brooklyn whenever we walked its streets together. Combining warmth, depth, humor, and subtlety well into her 90s, she will always represent perfectly what I’d like to be when I grow up. My hope is to charm you with this sample of her writing:
Prestidigitation
I called Val. The 1920s dining room table being discarded by my neighbors would be perfect for her family.
Valerie, my scavenging partner in crime, was down with the fun. But the table was perfect.
When other possibilities had fizzled, I got the neighbors to help me lug it to my house. It was neatly set for dinner when my husband came home.
“Are you a magician?” he demanded, his eyes flicking back and forth between me and the huge table for eight.
“You mean you didn’t know?” I responded.
