I am reading “Kepler’s Dream” by Juliet Bell, a name used by Sylvia Brownrigg, who I’ve known since the fifth grade, at Fremont Hills. Coincidentally, the story is told from the perspective of an 11-year old. Here is Syliva or Juliet today, or a week ago:

This is Julie Bell. Or is it Sylvia Brownrigg?

As promised, the book was reviewed in the Sunday New York Times, which I skimmed while on the bus en route to Oliver Ranch with a bunch of Palo Alto art aficionados.

Mr. Brownrigg, I mean Sylvia’s husband and baby-dad Sedge Thomson, made a joke to me about how at the shindig there were bagels and donut-holes, but not donuts nor bagel-holes. I took a picture of the bagel platter, but then erased it. A lady at my table, perhaps not realizing the roles here, said “Somebody should tell that guy to shut up!” He’s self-syndicated, don’t you know.

Then I caught WCL the following week and texted Matt Gonzalez about Jonathan Richman singing in Italian, which I called “an ode to Ferlinghetti”; Matt wrote back to say he was not familiar with the show. His loss.

Sylvia and Sedge met on the show. For a while he would make reference to “Sylvia Brownrigg, our London office” but I heard him say “Sylvia Brownrigg, our Albuquerque office” in reference to her book, that takes place in New Mexico. I hope that if they expand their family even further they consider the name “Billy the Kid”.