We met when I was 12 on the back lot of the Disney studio and you signed my copy of the Chronicles. Later we would meet in Ireland while you were writing Moby Dick and we shared my first Guiness and an evening of lies with Greg and Sean in that noisy little pub. Later I would convert your writings into reader's theater presentations and stand in amazement when you walked in on the final performance. You never quite forgave me the day I walked out on you with Ike, Harlan, Phil and Ted that day at the convention when you started reading your poetry. But the drinks and the laughter that evening told me that all was forgiven. Shucks, if I'd stayed you would have known I was not being honest, because I truly hated your poetry. Now look what you've gone and done. You caught the morning shuttle without me and left me behind again. Bet you had to fly to catch that one. Well, my friend, don't look for me soon, I hope, but wait for me. I'll be there eventually and I'll be looking for you, with open arms and the best bear-hug we ever shared. Not good-bye, See ya. Kelly