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I went to a Jane Auel reading in town to get an autographed copy of her latest and last volume in the Earth’s Children series for my younger daughter. If Elizabeth were in town, we would have been going there together – one of our little pilgrimages. I did drawings while listening and jotted down a few comments to relay later over the phone. I did snap a picture or two with my phone (I was reluctant to be the pest with a camera attendee, so I hadn’t brought a real one; my phone was probably just as distracting). I got a nice shot of the author inscribing Elizabeth’s copy. The Book signing was as usual, at the end of her talk. I was situated up in front, but alas, they decided to reconfigure everyone into a line starting from the side opposite to mine. The afternoon was uncluttered for me, so I just went to the end rather than be one of those butt-in-skis that I despise. Some of the attendees had several copies of books to be autographed; a few were even toting filled book bags. I waited at the end of the line with a couple of other ladies who had found themselves in the same situation of being displaced. We all made small talk, but one woman behind me was chatting up a storm. She needed to vent and I was happy to be - as Mom used to call me - a listening post. She was coping with a recent divorce and clutched a paperback copy of the first in the six volume series. Her ex had kept the entire set as his part of their divorce settlement. He had been mesmerized by them and read them all several times as had she. They had been so obsessed with the books that they had named their firstborn daughter Ayla – after the series’ central character. Getting an inscribed copy of that initial book to present to her became her mission. Her ex hadn’t unpacked everything since the split and when she told him she wanted to get one of them signed – couldn’t locate any of them. So she bought a paperback of the first volume, The Clan of the Cave Bear, and waited in line with it. She had come up from a small town south of Iowa City, where she kept horses and did rodeos, describing how she had injured her knees during barrel racing. She said in her day the barrels were steel drums and not the plastic ones they use now. Her daughters (I think there were two) rode and did shows and competitions and she had become the horse custodian – doing the prepping and brushing and whatever has to be done to horses before competitions - my sister Susie would know. Anyway she was adjusting to her new single status and had gained weight and was worried about an upcoming high school reunion and being fatter. She always had had a good figure and used to say no to a cheeseburger with ease, but now had drowned her sorrows in food for a year and was a bit hefty. She had tried to adopt a few new interests and bought a Harley - which she didn’t have to comb and shovel after - of course it didn’t look at her with big brown eyes and nuzzle her, but she liked how it stayed clean in the barn. She admired its shiny chrome and was getting acquainted with that new mistress reflected in it. So she chattered on, punctuating the conversation with alternating complaints about her former husband, her blossoming figure, and her eagerness to meet the writer who had been so critical a part of her life. She was excited about the opportunity to tell the author how they had named their daughter Ayla, how important the book was to her, and how fitting it’s presentation to her daughter would be. If I hadn’t moved to the back of that line, Ayla would have stayed just another character in a book, never stepping out from its covers, journeying into reality and leaving her footprints on my turf. 
My daughter was given a lovely red leather bound sketchbook by her boss, a souvenir of his recent trip to Spain. He knew she kept a book with daily entries and drawings and felt this was the perfect gift for her. I so hope she uses it and doesn’t save it for some special more deserving later point in time. I have always had a forward looking temperament, one that is preparing and planning and setting aside for the future. I have a fear of making hasty decisions and carelessly squandering anything. The downside of this nature is that too often the saved items are never used, never enjoyed - never have a life beyond their ‘newness’. They sit on the shelf, awaiting some more appropriate, more worthy moment. Over the years, we sent my Father’s Mother nightgowns and housecoats that she kept folded in tissue in their original gift boxes, occasionally pulling them out to look at, forever feeling that they were too ‘nice’ to wear, to potentially wrinkle, to possibly soil, to taint with life. It was as if donning them would deflower them. My other Grandma told me a story of setting choice parts of her dinner on the edge of her plate to savor at the end and lord over siblings who had eaten all of theirs first - only to see those treats snatched away by a sister, devoured and gone forever - the downside of hoarding. My husband Mike and I felt that way about ‘retirement’. We watched older friends and relatives save up ambitions and wishes for after they retired. By the time they did, they were too aged or tired or gripped with illnesses to embrace those dreams with the zest with with they had been envisioned. In many cases they had not done the necessary ground work to facilitate switching over to dream pastimes at that later age. So we decided to live as if we were retired now, doing what we truly liked - living scrupulously and sparsely so that we didn’t NEED a large financial support system for our lives. There was never ‘when we retire’ we’ll take up photography, paint, write a novel, garden or ‘when we strike it rich’ we’ll live in the country, travel, build a bigger house. We didn’t need a large chunk of money or time to pursue those goals we saw on the horizon. We live on that horizon. We told ourselves “it’s not getting what you want, but wanting what you have” that’s the key and if you don’t have it now –do you really want it? I think most of us do what we want to and if we put off things, maybe we don’t truly want them all that much, and if we put them off too often, or for too long, our desires wilt. So lest your ambitions fade - or be snatched away - live them now. 
I so hope my daughter’s new leather journal becomes filled with her life and not shelf life.
I went to a Jane Auel reading in town to get an autographed copy of her latest and last volume in the Earth’s Children series for my younger daughter. If Elizabeth were in town, we would have been going there together – one of our little pilgrimages. I did drawings while listening and jotted down a few comments to relay later over the phone. I did snap a picture or two with my phone (I was reluctant to be the pest with a camera attendee, so I hadn’t brought a real one; my phone was probably just as distracting). I got a nice shot of the author inscribing Elizabeth’s copy. The Book signing was as usual, at the end of her talk. I was situated up in front, but alas, they decided to reconfigure everyone into a line starting from the side opposite to mine. The afternoon was uncluttered for me, so I just went to the end rather than be one of those butt-in-skis that I despise. Some of the attendees had several copies of books to be autographed; a few were even toting filled book bags. I waited at the end of the line with a couple of other ladies who had found themselves in the same situation of being displaced. We all made small talk, but one woman behind me was chatting up a storm. She needed to vent and I was happy to be - as Mom used to call me - a listening post. She was coping with a recent divorce and clutched a paperback copy of the first in the six volume series. Her ex had kept the entire set as his part of their divorce settlement. He had been mesmerized by them and read them all several times as had she. They had been so obsessed with the books that they had named their firstborn daughter Ayla – after the series’ central character. Getting an inscribed copy of that initial book to present to her became her mission. Her ex hadn’t unpacked everything since the split and when she told him she wanted to get one of them signed – couldn’t locate any of them. So she bought a paperback of the first volume, The Clan of the Cave Bear, and waited in line with it. She had come up from a small town south of Iowa City, where she kept horses and did rodeos, describing how she had injured her knees during barrel racing. She said in her day the barrels were steel drums and not the plastic ones they use now. Her daughters (I think there were two) rode and did shows and competitions and she had become the horse custodian – doing the prepping and brushing and whatever has to be done to horses before competitions - my sister Susie would know. Anyway she was adjusting to her new single status and had gained weight and was worried about an upcoming high school reunion and being fatter. She always had had a good figure and used to say no to a cheeseburger with ease, but now had drowned her sorrows in food for a year and was a bit hefty. She had tried to adopt a few new interests and bought a Harley - which she didn’t have to comb and shovel after - of course it didn’t look at her with big brown eyes and nuzzle her, but she liked how it stayed clean in the barn. She admired its shiny chrome and was getting acquainted with that new mistress reflected in it. So she chattered on, punctuating the conversation with alternating complaints about her former husband, her blossoming figure, and her eagerness to meet the writer who had been so critical a part of her life. She was excited about the opportunity to tell the author how they had named their daughter Ayla, how important the book was to her, and how fitting it’s presentation to her daughter would be. If I hadn’t moved to the back of that line, Ayla would have stayed just another character in a book, never stepping out from its covers, journeying into reality and leaving her footprints on my turf. 
