Dear Betty:

All those hours in Blink's cafe, and we never thought to invite her out, or visit her studio. Maybe we women make each other invisible. The old invisible to the young, but the young invisible to the old in a certain way, too.

Her studio is beautiful. It made me think about my old house in Fox Chapel. Despite its many rooms, I never had a room dedicated to my work, because, of course, my work was running the house. I didn't need a room.

Blink's studio is in an old beer factory, with natural light streaming in, and the faintest, just the faintest, whiff of beer in the old beams. She made me coffee and asked me what kind of music I wanted to listen to. When I told her I didn't care, she said she didn't believe me.

"Let me play you this," Blink said, and put on this enchanting, dancing music in Portuguese. You knew it was about heartbreak, even without knowing the language. Blink told me the woman is, well, my age, and she sings in a big skirt and bare feet. Her hips are wide, and her face is wrinkled, and Blink says, she is the sexiest thing she has ever seen.