Teddy and me

It was hot and overwhelming and I hardly knew a soul except for my friend and her husband, who were at another table, and I had forgotten one tiny detail when I had signed on: You had to eat with people you didn't know, and talk to them.

I would seriously rather be in a long line at the DMV than eat with people I don't know. But I did the best I could while waiting for Kennedy to arrive.

Almost everyone but me was drinking expensive wine, and things got louder and giddier, and my tablemates and I shouted to each other about the food, until finally, Teddy and Victoria arrived, and were seated at the head of our table.

Teddy looked fantastic -- healthy and much trimmer, a lion in very early winter. Victoria, whom people seemed to be calling Vicki, was beautiful, friendly, smart, lively, and only two seats away from me.

And so I got to make small talk with her, and when the person across the table suddenly spilled his glass of red wine all over me and my perfect white blouse, it was my new best friend Vicki who called off the troops who had begun wiping at me with their napkins: "Dab, dab," she said. "Don't rub," and she called for a club soda.

That was my favorite part of the evening, when Vicki and I talked about stains -- the red wine stain, and the great strides in stain removal that have been made just in our lifetime. We talked about how when we were young, our mothers couldn't get anything out, not blood or ink or grass. But now, you could Shout out anything, or Google your specific stain-removal needs.

It's a great time to be alive. I was back in the saddle. And I did the only thing I could think of: I threw myself at Teddy Kennedy. He was seated a few people away, and I walked over, my mind spinning with opening lines, and without meaning to, I ended up kneeling before him, as if I was about to propose. This surprised him, for a moment. I took his hand, like a supplicant in "The Godfather," and said, "My family has loved your family for 45 years, and I want to thank you for how you have spent your life."

He was so kind to me. The organizers of the event were sitting on either side of him, and told him what a fabulous writer I was, and how many benefits I had done in the spring at people's homes. He clasped his hands to his chest with thanks, and looked down into my face, where I knelt like a knight-in-training at the Round Table, as he said how great it was to hear of my work. And how we were going to win.

It was one of the great moments of the year.

In between the second or third course, Teddy gave very loud speech about peace, and his brothers, and the poor, and what an evil moron Bush is -- OK, I made that last bit up.

But then he was done, and I was really exhausted, and then more and more platters of food arrived, like "The 500 Hats of Bartholomew Cubbins," and I grew increasingly miserable. The small talk got harder, and worst of all, my only real friend, Vicki -- Vick -- started talking to other people. And I realized I just had to leave. For about 10 seconds, I thought about telling the truth -- that I had had enough. But instead I lied and said Sam had a major history report due, and I had to go home right that second.

I am still excited about meeting Kennedy, nearly two weeks later. The stains in my blouse came out, and Kerry is pulling ahead in some battleground states. And the persimmons are nearly ripe, although they still need a little more time to soften. They will begin to yield to the touch soon. In the meantime, I am going to keep the faith, work on getting out the vote, and keep on registering women in New Hampshire and Minnesota, who can register through Election Day.

We have until Friday to write them. E-mail me if you want to help.

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