On the afternoon of Halloween, we attended a birthday party in Riverside Park, a surprise celebration in Dinosaur Playground for a magical ten year old, daughter of the author whose book is now making the rounds at publishing houses, and pray with me, please, that it gets picked up, because her narrative is magnificent. That's mother and daughter above, as we all sang "Happy Birthday," with the birthday girl's two uncles in the background, one in leopard print the other in sartorial red, who took their niece on a shopping extravaganza, after doing her makeup, painting her nails lavender, and adorning her hair in gold filigree and rings. This was the ruse to keep her occupied while her parents set up the party in the park. I was meeting my brilliant writer friend's village for the first time, a mix of Armenians (which she is) and Jamaicans (which her husband is), with a few other lovely variations of humanity thrown in, authors and opera singers, musicians and costume designers, artists and teachers, a computer whiz and an ichthyologist, plus a beautiful teen and preteen gang of aspiring performers and filmmakers, all with light around them, all of them sparked by art. Maryam, Chris, Daniel, Imani, the afternoon was wonderful. Thank you for sharing your village. This time, we took pictures.