I don't know what "authoritative" feels like, but I'm sure I'll never get there. There's always something more to learn, something more to see, some question I don't have answers for, someone with a better story. I'm reminded of that every day, and increasingly, as I travel around our city to speak to those who have worked on its behalf.
Yesterday, at
Laurel Hill Mansion, I met with the women who have helped ensure that this centuries-old home in Fairmount Park East still thrives. Musicians come to play in the summer there. People arrive and talk. Harry K. gives tours to visitors from Germany, California, and elsewhere. Sylvia, 91-years-young, recalls the work the Women for Greater Philadelphia did to open this house during the Bicentennial.
I took a few photos while I was there. That's Phyllis Kauffman looking out over the Schuylkill River from the Laurel Hill Mansion back porch. Phyllis was once a librarian in Pennsylvania's third largest library. Oh, does she, too, have stories to tell.
With special thanks to the very beautiful Ann of
The Spiral Bookcase, a joyful community indie in Manayunk that supports authors and their dreams—and readers, too. Ann graciously joined us yesterday. And you can meet her again this Thursday, at the Ambler theater, where we will be celebrating LOVE as the community's Let's Discuss It title.
(We'll be doing far more than that—celebrating Temple University film students, celebrating the memories of Philadelphians, celebrating libraries and librarians. It's a fest. Details are
here.)
Look. We come around to this. Again and again, we do. We are living with a book newly launched (though perhaps we wrote pieces of it years ago). We are grateful for the invitations extended, grateful for a chance to sing the book's song, eager not to fail those who have been kind enough to open their doors to us—and also aware that every time we mention our own book we are not talking about the countless million million things that matter much more deeply than ever our own books could.
(Refuges. Candidates. Hunger. Homelessness. Heartbreak. Danger. Unexpected and unimaginable losses. Aging. Love suspended.)
It has always been important to me to use this blog to celebrate the world and the work of others. To raise questions. To be honest. To admit: I'm failing right now. I'm not writing right now. I'm stuck right now. I screwed that up. I should have— Also to admit: I have been graced. I have been blessed. I know luck when I see luck.
That's what I'm here to talk about and I am (believe me) aware when I lose the hoped-for balance.
This, however, is also true. Book stores make room. Festivals provide opportunities to think out loud with people I respect. The ladies of Laurel Hill are throwing a fundraiser and I've promised to help them tell that story.
Forgive the apparent self indulgence.
I promise that it is almost over. That I am stockpiling books to read with an eye toward the future of this blog when, in just a few weeks, I won't be talking about me.
But for now, this weekend: I am blessed beyond measure to be included in the BookFest@Bank Street, on Saturday. I'll be talking about
narrative risk in young adult literature with three people I hugely respect, and I'm going to learn so much (not just from that panel but from every single other person who is attending—what a list).
Sunday, October 25, I'll be talking with the wonderful voice of KYW, Brad Segall, about Philadelphia and some of the Philadelphians I love (go Sister Kim and her girls!) on WOGL 98.1 FM and WZMP 96.5 FM at 6:30 AM and on WXTU at 92.5 FM at 7:30 AM. Later that afternoon, at 4 PM, I'll be at Main Point Books, a glorious Indie on Lancaster Avenue in Bryn Mawr, signing
One Thing Stolen and
Love. And next Sunday I will be at the
Women for Greater Philadelphia annual fundraiser, there at Laurel Hill Mansion, a public event. We'll be celebrating the Schuylkill River by reading from
Flow and two novels—
Dangerous Neighbors and Dr. Radway's Sarsaparilla Resolvent—where the river features boldly.
Where I live, on this morning, the sky is breaking blue.
It is another day.
That is the greatest miracle of all.