It has been a fall of vast proportions and very little sleep and soon, soon, I will sit very quietly in a still and silent spot and reflect upon it all. What have I learned? What lessons carry forward?
But there is no need to find a quiet space to reflect upon this: the power of thank you. That simple truth—so well known, so often disregarded—was reinvented for me yesterday by the arrival of a yellow-brown envelope from the Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church Tutoring Center, which I had visited two consecutive Tuesday evenings not long ago. I had met with the children of West Philadelphia and their tutors. I had to read to them from books by Jacqueline Woodson, Sandra Cisneros, and others. I had talked to them about language, and what it can do, and then the children had written stories for me. Stood up before their friends and let their dreams ring out.
The joy during those two evenings was palpable. I wrote of
one young writer on my blog. I left, and I left them to their stories, but I did not forget their hearts, their faces.
Yesterday, in that envelope, I received their notes, their kindness, their sprawling enthusiasm, their books of dreams, and one fine Thanksgiving turkey. I received the autographs of aspiring writers and inspired readers and home builders. I received these words: "I am really excited that you put me on your blog. That was the best that ever happened to me in my life."
The keepsake of this whirring fall. The authenticity that lives in children.
New York City was at its hospitable best yesterday. Through the windows of a train I watched the sun both rise and set on Manhattan. In between
I opined on the future of YA at the Publishing Perspectives Conference, saw old friends (Rahna Reiko Rizzuto, Jennifer Brown, Laura Geringer, Melissa Sarno, Dennis Abrams, Ed Nawotka), made new ones, did a little Amen shout as Doris Janhsen, David Levithan, Francine Lucidon, Eliot Schrefer, and Dennis Abrams (pictured above), reminded people what publishing is really about, or should be about: good books. By mid-afternoon, I was sitting with the remarkable team at Gotham, discussing the future of
Handling the Truth. I was thinking—truth—how lucky I am. (Then got even luckier sneaking in a little stolen time with Jessica Shoffel of Philomel and my own son, at 30th Street Station.)
It took every bit of driving craftswomanship I have (and there isn't much) to get to Anne Lamott's talk (and promotion of her new book on prayer,
Help Thanks Wow) at Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church by the 7:30 start. My father had saved a seat for me in the balcony, and a lucky thing that was, for there were at least 1,000 people gathered in this church where I grew up, wed, and baptized my son. Anne does what I cannot do. Talks without a plan ("I have prepared nothing," she began), works her way toward a theme, gets grace right out there, where it belongs, and triggers a bout of group hysteria with a single word (
Okay) and a prop (my father's pen).
And so we laughed. And so it was ten before I finally got home, after a day that had begun at 3 AM. The mail had been brought in. There was a card, the smart, precise handwriting of an amazing writer whom I love. Alyson Hagy, you of the million things to do, you of the bad bronchitis, Good Lord, girl, you didn't have to. But I love this from you. I will treasure it, always.
If I could give you the sound of Vespers within the stone walls of Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church. If I could give you the ride back to my father's house. If I could give you the pink edge of the sky, or the lawns alight with Christmas.
If.
I can only give you this.
"Recently I was going through some of the poetry I wrote as a teen, and truly there’s some pitiful stuff. So sentimental and sloppy and overcooked and romantic, and yet, there it sits in the high school magazine, alongside the work of my genuinely genius brother (number one at Radnor, tops at Princeton, a soaring PhD from Stanford), not to mention David Brooks of Bobos in Paradise fame. There it was, somehow earning me the community poet award, the night just before graduation. I was given gifts as an aspiring young poet—more than my poetry ever actually deserved. Mostly it was this gift of learning to believe in myself so that I would keep working at this thing called writing, keep testing myself, keep reading the works of others, keep trying, until I could get some part of it right. I was emboldened by others. I learned to persevere. And because of this, I found a way to make language my ally, to emerge in the world as myself."
— from my talk yesterday to the gracious, intelligent, and warmly inviting women of Bryn Mawr Presbyterian Church
What a treat!
What a day! I wish I could have been there to hear Anne Lamott. I have heard her before, and yes she is rollickingly funny plus full of beautiful insights about life.
For the record I also want to say I am a huge fan of Rahna Reiko Rizzuto and her book, Hiroshima in the Morning, thanks to your bringing her work to my attention via this blog. Which now reminds me I have been meaning to get a copy of and read her other book. So, thanks for that.
Love this Beth. Hope you're cozied up today, going nowhere, savoring the memory of yesterday.
Oh my, quite a day. The kind dreams are made of. Ending with Anne Lamott? In that church?
"No way."
"Way!!!"
It was such a treat to meet you in person at the Publishing Perspectives event. I can't wait to see your keynote speech on video - SO moving,so brave. Many Amens muttered here.
I adore Anne Lamott's BIRD BY BIRD so much, I can imagine how fun and funny she must be in person.
You had one busy day, girl! Hope you got some sleep.
Wow!!! What more can I say? :-)
I'm so glad you had a good trip. It sounds amazing just hearing about it.