For what it’s worth, I feel like I am missing out on summer. It’s the weirdest thing.
I’m not sure if it’s because we’ve had chilly rain for a day or so, or what. I’ve been to the lake and played in the sand and hit the parks and all that, but I’m not even tan. Maybe it’s because I haven’t laid out enough in my own backyard, on my $17 Target lounge chair with my bestie, with the kids traipsing in and out of the house, leaving a trail of fresh cut grass bits on my floors while sucking down Popsicles, all while I ignore them and immerse myself into a book.
And trust me, I have plenty of books to read. A while back, I asked personal friends of mine to donate a physical copy of one of their books, signed and all, for a fundraiser for my friend, Kari. Her husband as an inoperable brain tumor and the doctors have given him just a short time to be with his family. The books started pouring in and I recognized my one mistake quickly. I was attached to these special packages the moment they arrived at my doorstep. How could I possible give them up? NO ONE would love them more than me. NO ONE.
Really, maybe their mothers have me beat, but NO ONE else attending the fundraiser would love them more than me. For starters, these authors are real people to me. Their book(s) not only represents them, but I know the sacrifice they made to turn their idea into words and then into printed pages you and I can hold. The hours, years even, they sat in the seat and put their fingers on the keyboard is not something I think so little of now. I know they spent hard-earned cash to go to conferences, pay for edits, buy software, etc., etc. to get that baby delivered. And to top it all off, as the books –all 23 of them– started showing up at my house, I had this reaction:
OH! I’VE BEEN WANTING TO READ HER/HIS BOOK! or “OH! I LOVED HIS/HER FIRST BOOK!” I began lining them up next to each other and did this on a daily basis.
In fact, I showed them off to several friends, all like, “I know you’re jealous.”
So I told my sweetheart, no matter what happened, we were buying those books back. PERIOD. And the night of the auction arrived, and I wrote my name on the auction sheet so many times I lost count. I hired my seven-year-old to spy on the paper and inform me whenever someone out bid me.
Friends turned into Frienemies, as any good silent auction will do, as they knew how much I wanted them.They bid me up, just to make me bleed. Which was fine. Because at the end of the night, when I saw my name at the bottom of the sheet, and the total, I gladly took the receipt to the cashier and wrote a check for double the amount. And then I turned to my Frienemies and handed out the books I’d just won.
“I don’t mind lending them out. I just couldn’t lose them.” I said.
And that’s how I roll. I might be losing a day at a time to summer, but I’m in a daze. A happy one. I’m spending time with the kids and editing. And it’s great. Not every day is spent under a Cabana with a Pina Colada, my skin soaked in Hawaiian Tropic, but this is Idaho, people. That wouldn’t be happening anyway.