Saturday, May 8, 2010
One week into my book tour for THE RED THREAD and I already have book tour shoulder. This started back when I was on tour for THE KNITTING CIRCLE and all the running through airports and lugging up elevators gave me a sore right shoulder. Went away. Came back with COMFORT tour. Went away. And here it is again! So I am on the sofa, Advil'ed and resting up for my week long trip out to San Francisco, Seattle and Portland. So excited to read at those three great bookstores: Book Passage, Eliot Bay and Powell's! And to see so many buddies in each city. Details on reading are under EVENTS here, and of course posted on Facebook.
Tomorrow is Mother's Day, a day that is mixed with such joy and sadness for me, as it is for other bereaved mothers. To have Sam, all 6'4 of him, with his glorious singing voice and encyclopedic knowledge of American History, musical theater, and Shakespeare, as well as his cooking and baking skills and his killer instincts in every game from Bananagrams to Cribbage; and to have Annabelle, with her stunning beauty, her sense of humor, endless curiosity (the other morning's questions: "Does God control us? How does hair grow?)and fluent French...well, they make my heart soar.
But to have lost Grace. I try to imagine her as she would be today at thirteen. I remember the eye doctor telling us when he looked into her blue eyes, "These are keepers." Our pediatrician, Dr. Utter, estimating that she would grow to be 5'9 or 5'10 (he said Sam would be 6'5, so I think his formula works!). Would she still dream of being an artist? Would she have succeeded in growing her hair long finally? Where would she be preparing to go to high school in the fall? Who would my tall, blond, blue eyed teenaged daughter be?
I will pause too tomorrow to thank the mother who gave birth to Annabelle 10,000 miles away and had the bravery to leave her at that orphanage door.
Mother's Day. A day fraught with so much pain, so filled with love and joy. I am grateful to still have my mother, the indestructible Gogo, with me. To have mothered and step mothered four amazing children. I toast all of you who are mothers, and hug those of you who have lost a child.
It is spring. After thunder storms and hard rain, the sky has cleared. When I take a deep breath, the air smells new.
Tomorrow is Mother's Day, a day that is mixed with such joy and sadness for me, as it is for other bereaved mothers. To have Sam, all 6'4 of him, with his glorious singing voice and encyclopedic knowledge of American History, musical theater, and Shakespeare, as well as his cooking and baking skills and his killer instincts in every game from Bananagrams to Cribbage; and to have Annabelle, with her stunning beauty, her sense of humor, endless curiosity (the other morning's questions: "Does God control us? How does hair grow?)and fluent French...well, they make my heart soar.
But to have lost Grace. I try to imagine her as she would be today at thirteen. I remember the eye doctor telling us when he looked into her blue eyes, "These are keepers." Our pediatrician, Dr. Utter, estimating that she would grow to be 5'9 or 5'10 (he said Sam would be 6'5, so I think his formula works!). Would she still dream of being an artist? Would she have succeeded in growing her hair long finally? Where would she be preparing to go to high school in the fall? Who would my tall, blond, blue eyed teenaged daughter be?
I will pause too tomorrow to thank the mother who gave birth to Annabelle 10,000 miles away and had the bravery to leave her at that orphanage door.
Mother's Day. A day fraught with so much pain, so filled with love and joy. I am grateful to still have my mother, the indestructible Gogo, with me. To have mothered and step mothered four amazing children. I toast all of you who are mothers, and hug those of you who have lost a child.
It is spring. After thunder storms and hard rain, the sky has cleared. When I take a deep breath, the air smells new.