It is Small

Finally the sun came out.

Dad and I took the RV to Moreau State Park and dumped the waste water. After stopping by Alpine Haus RV Center in Wilton, where the manager installed a replacement vent cover for the leaky one in the bath room while I replaced the cover to the electrical cord outlet, we came home to rinse, clean and flush out the water system. I don’t know what is going on with the hot water heater but if water sits in there for any length of time the water begins to stink. It had been sitting for more than two weeks since I have been home. Yikes, it stunk up the RV with a smell as bad as some funky French cheese. Hopefully all my work on this beautiful day will pay off. I put a fresh six gallons in the tank and will see what it smells like in a day or two. And now with the leaky window and vent fixed it won’t rain for weeks.

I had to get back to selling books. I feel as stagnant as a beaver pond in a summer drought. Mom wrote that she wanted us to move forward. So I am, even if it is slowly.

New Haven – Atticus Books.

Jill, Beth and Oliver made me feel as if I was the most important author to ever walk through the door at Atticus Book Store and Cafe. Signs announcing my reading were displayed throughout the store – The Muffin has docked. At each table throughout the café little orange signs said I would be here to read and sign my book. For those savvy enough to purchase a book, they would receive a certificate for a free muffin. And I am talking big honking muffins.

Beth moved through the café inviting customers to come hear my story, tempting them with a tray of muffins that had to weigh twenty pounds. Oliver passed out my book markers. And in the end, I read for Beth, a couple from Indiana (although he was born in Belgium. I don’t think I ever met some one from Belgium before) Oliver, the young handsome cashier, and my dad who tagged along.

I read five passages, conversing with the audience between each reading. Behind me a small crowd gathered in the doorway. I guess these things are like being in church—can’t get anyone to sit up front and here I can’t get anyone to sit in the seats provided. I was a little nervous because I have no talent for reading out loud and hate the sound of my own voice. Since the past few weeks have been hectic, emotional and busy, I have not had much time to practice. I managed a few run-throughs the day before, walking up and down the road outside my parents’ house. Yes, not much traffic on the road.

The last passage I read was August 5th—day 15:

My parents are two individuals who became one. They dedicated their lives to raising five children in a stable and secure home. At times their partnership was rough, but never did either one neglect their responsibilities as loving parents who instilled core values of honesty, decency, and compassion. They believed that nothing came free, that you worked and you were rewarded, and that education was the ticket to opportunity. In three weeks they will celebrate their fifty-ninth wedding anniversary. A science teacher, an MRI technician, a cancer research professional, a house painter, and an aspiring writer will wish their parents all the best on that day, while they celebrate in subdued fashion.

Even in my fifties, I receive no less love from them. Both provide encouragement and support, albeit I am sure with some reservation, as I pursue a less than typical means of living. The fact that this year I’ve managed to make a concerted effort not to make a living is probably not something they brag about to their friends. Nevertheless, in part due to the way I was raised, I am a person of good standing. They have given me much. In turn, I can give back.

The difference between wiping snot off a child’s nose and wiping dribble off a parent’s chin is the difference between promise and dignity. That is the difference between growing up and growing old. How much prouder could parents be but to raise their children to do what is right when the time comes to return the grace and care they unconditionally provided? And when your parents are proud of you, what more can you accomplish? Now, isn’t that love?

I managed to get through that without choking up and dad gave me a huge hug afterwards. I wish mom could have been there and I know in a way she was. She would have been proud and I would have glowed in that. We drove back to Saratoga leaving New Haven about 8 pm. The full moon had risen. It was breathtaking. And I called it Mom’s Moon.