By Charlotte K. Jarmy

One never knows where a name dropped can lead. Several weeks ago, I sent out 100 little postcards announcing our new Web site (www.jarmybooks.com). Some came back with “Can’t Find” or “Wrong Address,” and those I just tossed. But I received a phone call from a long-ago friend who lived in my house in the Bronx. We reconnected a few years ago when she saw my name in a New York Times letter to the editor. I barely knew this woman.

Another woman sent me a note saying she enjoyed our Web site. She mentioned that her mother, my cousin, was 91 and lived in Florida. At first, I could not recall who this woman was, but my address book reminded me that she was family and before marriage had carried the same name as I (Giventer). Her grandfather was my dad’s brother. I feel an emotional bond because of the family name, and because she lives in Southern California, a reachable address. We are all connected to strangers and bump into one another by accident.

Another old acquaintance surfaced and even sent a picture. I stared at it for a long time, looking for the girl I knew some 50 years ago. My old album helped me remember her lovely face - her eyes that looked off into the distance. Will I ever see her again? I doubt it.

There are so many memories connected to names that send me back to times so different from today. A woman who recently bought my book told me her name was Bernice, the name of my childhood friend who can no longer speak. My Bernice splits “Charlotte” into three syllables when we try to communicate by phone. I do most of the talking, and she responds: “Oh no!” or “Beautiful” when I pass on some news. The sounds she makes, her familiar nonsense word, and her vigorous laugh take me back to the days when we sat whispering our secrets as we looked out on a familiar courtyard from her bedroom window. Will I ever see her again? I doubt it.

I make new friends every week when I go to different meetings or events. Their voices have not yet moved into my memory. Wise counselors advise us to move outside a narrow social environment. Apparently, the more people we can call friends, the more zest we add to our lives. We have to fill the empty spots left by those who move away and those who are no longer among the living. I am so lucky that some friends from the past reconnect and keep that line between past and present moving together.

Among these, two former students, Cheri Springer and Tad Hsie, with whom I have maintained a warm friendship across many miles, have touched me. I can never forget the creative surge those years brought to my life. There is a book waiting to be written.

My brother recently picked up my old photo album and showed each page to his wife. His voice gradually changed as he pointed out each person he remembered, becoming vibrant and joyful as he too moved back in time.

In my book I quote, “I see the past as part of our present; it walks with us to light the way.” All these people are like tiny fireflies that flit among us and carry us back.