It feels very good to be sleeping in my own bed after two weeks of hotels— a different one almost every night—and having my own cat purring on my lap, and my dog at my feet again. (The dog has a touch of diarrhea after being in a kennel, eating a different kind of food, for so long; but that is a topic best glossed over). I have several more engagagements coming up: Dana Hall in Wellesley, MA, Monday ngiht; Porter Square Books, Cambrigde, MA, Tuesday night; and the Conocrd (MA) Public Library next Saturday night. But those are all local and I won't have to stand in a security line in order to get there.
It was a good trip (and productive, I guess, since SON will be on tomorrow's NYT best-seller list) with few glitches, and with the unexpected bonnus of saying hi to a few unexpected people here and there: Torben Platt, the son of Annelise Platt, my Danish friend to whom "Number the Stars"is dedicated, lives in Iowa and brought his wife and daughter to my Iowa city event; Stuart Ruth, with whom I went to eighth grade in Tokyo in 1949, came to the San Francisco event; Bob Ryan, Houston lawyer who was a close high school friend of my son Grey and who flew to Germany for Grey's funeral in 1995, came to my Houston event; Margaret Holcombe, to whom "Bless This Mouse" is dedicated, lives in St. Paul, MN, and came to my event there; and I know there were others whom I am overlooking. I also had a quiet and wonderful afternon with my daughter in San Francisco.
Me, age 12, on the far left, second row; Stuart Ruth in the striped shirt in the middle of the first row.
(Just glancing now at that first row of boys, I am reciting their first names: Keith, David, Billy, Henry, Stuart, Bob, Mike, and Joe. Having just come from a zillion book signings, many for boys that age, I can testify that today's 12-year-olds are, instead, named Noah, Dylan, Jack, Zachary, Tyler, Ethan, Jake, and Ryan)