Meet Judith.   Several of you -- and I won't name names -- have complained of late that I am as hard to find and nearly as uncommunicative as a cigar store Indian. In truth, I've been just a little missing in action, as I was on a recent weekend when I met this frightful creature standing guard outside a store in upstate Rhinebeck, New York. Since it was a little early for my annual fall foliage expedition, you're probably wondering, "Just what was Lou doing in Rhinebeck instead of answering my email?" Well, Rhinebeck is on the way to Olana, the hokey Persian-style home designed and owned by Frederic Church, the famous Hudson River school artist. So Olana was the destination of a day trip, Rhinebeck was the locale for a lunch stop, and the whole enterprise was suggested by the person who's been keeping me captivated and gently captive, a certain Ms. Judith.

Those of you who know me, as they say in Sewanaka, for a many, many moons will remember that a certain Ms. Judith and I were "an item" when I was a Columbia College sophomore and Judith a junior in high school (I think). At that time, I met Judith through her brother, who was a friend of my college roommate. We all lost track of each other, as college friends do, until recently, when her brother caught up with me, and I had the good fortune to find Judith again. (Click on her photo for a closer look.) It was a most interesting reunion. Other people whom I've "met again" after a long separation have without exception turned out to be just as they were before. But for Judith and me, while the chemistry that attracted us to each other is the same, we've each been delightfully surprised to find the other a new and intriguingly different person.

One of the things I learned and like greatly about Judith is that she's an accomplished writer. Hopefully, you'll see this for yourself, if I can prevail upon her to share her talents by contributing a page or two to the Inwood Journal. For her part, one of the things Judith seems to like about me is that I know how to boil water. As soon as she made that discovery, she forced me into kitchen servitude, not releasing me until I produced something acceptably similar to dinner. And, adding insult to ignominy, she insisted on photographing me wearing my kitchen blues. (Click for a blowup if you dare.)

I've got to run now -- the tea kettle's whistling -- but come back again soon for more about this special lady who plays on my heart and apron strings. But first a few words from you, our readers!