It’s pub day! The book is out at long last! I really hope you all enjoy it- All Dogs Go to Kevin has truly been a labor of love. (That link goes to my new website. Did I mention I have a new website? It’s been so busy around here I think I forgot.)
Last weekend I went to Warwicks to sign the preordered books. Brian and the kids were at ComicCon, so I went to Warwicks by myself. It was a short task, no more than 20 minutes, so I couldn’t figure out why I was so bummed about going alone, and then I realized ohhhh. It’s another one of those moments.
The thing I will miss most about my mom is not the big celebrations, the ones everyone goes to: holidays, book signings, that sort of thing. It’s the little celebrations, the moments no one else would think mattered, but she always did. If she were around, she would never have let me go alone. She’d go with me, we’d get lunch, then she’d talk me into shopping for a little while in downtown La Jolla. But she’s not here, so my twenty minute task was just that- 20 minutes in a little bookstore office with a Sharpie feeling terribly sad.
I’m trying not to let my sadness get in the way of being happy, but it’s so hard not to have her here. We have a series of white rosebushes in our backyard that bloom almost year-round, and I really like them because they remind me of my parents’ yard. Plus, it made it really easy to send random nosegays to teachers and the like since they were always blossoming, scattering white petals all over the grass like confetti. Mom loved them too, of course.
Brian- not so much. He’s been threatening to pull them since we moved in. He’s been talking about it again the last few weeks, and I made him promise to leave me at least one or two, for Mom, and he said, “OK.”
This afternoon he had someone come over to give us a quote for doing some of the backyard work. I peered through the window to make sure Brian saw me giving him the evil eye- not ALL the rosebushes, ok??- and I noticed something I had never seen before in all the time we’ve been here:
Someone’s been painting the roses red.
The roses stay, obvs.
It’s funny how the moments that impact are not the large and grandiose gestures, but the fleeting surprises that hit you like a much needed breeze. How I can be sad about a less than perfect rose in my garden when so many people in this world know nothing but weeds? Mom’s here in every sunset and every butterfly and her love feels no less potent for the lack of her physical presence.
It’s a beautiful day here in San Diego. The book is out and it’s my fourteenth wedding anniversary- a date traditionally marked by ivory but now the theme is “animals.” Mom sent flowers. How can I complain?