I am going over the copy-edited pages of the next Tess Monaghan novel -- ANOTHER THING TO FALL, coming this March to a bookstore near you -- and marveling over the usual things. The fact that the first "F" in french fry is lowercase. My inability to spell the name of Baltimore establishments that I adore --Vaccaro's, in this case.

And then there is the literal age-old question: How old is Tess Monaghan? For the record, I got it wrong, but I also caught it. Then again, Tess has aged only four years in 10 books, while I have aged 10-plus. It gets complicated.

And, finally, an aside. Two people close to me got into an argument yesterday about a minor memory.

#1: It was Boston.
#2: It was Cooperstown.
#1: (louder) It was Boston.
#2: (louder) It was Cooperstown.
#1: (louder). No, I remember it vividly, it was Boston.
#2: (louder) No, I remember it, and it was Cooperstown.

Me, eventually: Do either of you realize that the assertion of the primacy of your memory in increasing increments of volume does not, in fact, make a case for being right?

Then they started yelling at me.

Makes me grateful for the guy at my high school reunion who said, "We didn't know each other, I'm pretty sure."