The person who sent me the link for the "H.R. Pufnstuff" theme song was my old friend, Brooklyn Sue. It took several days to finally exorcise this sing-songy theme from my head (which I am rather embarrassed to admit I remembered all the words to). Once my head had cleared, she e-mailed me links to several other television theme songs that were staples of our childhoods; the themes from "The Banana Splits," "The Archies" and "The Monkees." She gifted me with these along with the solemn benediction, "Here are more songs to stick in your head to drive you divinely mad." She's a treasure.

But I don't want to write about songs that stick in one's head, because God knows I do that enough. I want to tell you about my friend Brooklyn Sue. How we came to know each other and sustain a lovely friendship for 30 years is actually a pretty good story.

When MaryCatherineFullofGrace and I were just stepping over the precipice of adolescence, we found ourselves caught up in what was then called "Rollermania." Yes, I admit it. We were outright crazed Bay City Roller fans. This motley and badly dressed quintet of young men from Scotland made us swoon and scream and act very silly. Our parents were tolerant for the most part and well, it was a fun distraction for us for a little while.

Now, like most fan clubs, a grass roots community springs up from amongst the fans. Because they'll never get to meet or actually talk to the source of their adulation, they talk to one another to feel connected and as part of the current movement of their respective inspiration. In those days (and we're talking late 1970s), the Internet and instant messaging did not exist. You did not have the instant gratification of communicating with other fans as you do today. What you did do was write letters to one another; you collected penpals and exchanged notes, pictures and a staple of this fan base, the FB (the friendship book). The FB was a creative little offering and it was passed from penpal to penpal in their letters when they corresponded. In the FB, you would put your address, your favorite Roller and some little inspirational note. Then you would pass it on to one of your penpals. If someone looked interesting to you, you would write to them and collect them as part of your personal friendship circle. Best of all, you could make your own FB and when it was full, the final inductee would return it to you. I always found it fascinating to see that the ratty little FB that I had sent out months prior had roamed from the US to Japan to Europe and all over the world, finally winding its way back to me.

At my zenith, I had nearly 75 penpals of which 35 were rather ardent correspondents. I enjoyed the art of writing to them and after a few exchanges, we started to talk about ourselves, where we lived, what our lives were like, what we wanted to do when we grew up. We exchanged little gifts at the holidays and I still have some lovely hand woven ornaments from a girl named Siobahn from Belfast and a little hand made sampler that a girl named Rieko from Kyoto sent me. It was a wonderful experience.

But let's get to Brooklyn Sue because the fandom did bring us together. Sue, a native, multi-generational, dyed in the wool New York girl was also a Bay City Roller fan. We never actually met through the FBs, but through a very quirky experience in 1977. There was a toll free phone number to hear fan information about the group, but it was always busy when you called (this was the 70s after all). In a Twilight Zone kind of twist, when you got the busy signal on this line, you also heard other people's voices talking. As a precursor to telecommunicative interaction, people called out to others and dialogues took place, with the monotone of the busy signal in the background. And in this fray of detached voices, Sue and I met. I gave her my address, she wrote and thus began our friendship.

Over time, our Rollermania ebbed away and my penpals began to fall by the wayside. Not Sue. We continued to write--in ebbs and flows---for the next three decades. I lived in California; she lived in New York. As the years passed and we went through high school, college, love, angst and career struggles, we continued to write and occasionally speak on the phone.

It wasn't until the early 90s that we finally met. I had the chance to take a job in New York and I was nervous about coming from the sleepy Bay Area to such a worldly mecca. Sue, as is her generous nature, met me on my arrival and gave me my first entree to the wonder that is her hometown. I even stayed with her. Seeing New York through her eyes cemented the love affair I have with this place and its residents--and she was one of the reasons why. She had the heart and outgoing nature that is the hallmark of a New Yorker.

When Sue met her husband, Chris, I was out for a visit and had the pleasure of seeing them together at the start of their relationship. I don't think I have ever seen a man so clearly besotted with a woman before, and she with him. It was no surprise that they married soon after on St. Patrick's Day and I came out for the wedding. There was a lot of green and it was very good fun.

We're still in touch and get together when we can for dinner and gossip. Our lives are busy, but we understand each other and value the time we can connect.

When we were still teenagers, Sue sent me a newspaper clipping that I kept for a long time. It was a photo of two old women joyfully embracing each other. The caption said something to the effect of, "Two friends who have been penpals for fifty years finally meet in person!" Sue had written underneath in her clear script, "This is us."

Indeed it is, my friend.