On the Road: What's Going On?

It's Pizza Night for my daughter's school which means that if you eat at this particular restaurant, on this night, the place will give 20% of the proceeds to her school.

I take a fast walk through the neighborhood to pick up To-Go cheese and pepperoni before I jump on the phone to do more work around the book, promotions and adoption.

It's cool out today, bits of sun here and there and heavy gray clouds hang low in the sky.

At the pizzeria, the place is packed. Shoulders and hips bump against each other and all the people keep their hands shoved deep into their pockets as they squish together in order to make more room for the steady flow of customers.

"Sorry."

"Excuse me."

"Are you here for Pizza Night too?"

I get myself lodged in at the back of a long line, this disjointed zigzag of kids, teachers and parents. Near the front stands a terrific writer and more, a very popular woman who knows everyone (and everyone knows her). She's with her lovely kids and her darling husband and it's confession time: I have a secret desire to be this woman. She's just so good at getting along with people. She is what I call "a people person." I want to figure out how that is done. Or perhaps I am a people person but just don't see myself that way tonight. I don't know what's going on, I'm feeling a little fragile and out of sorts and turned inside out. When I see this fantastic woman, I cannot help think how she is the Porsche of people and I am the old rusted VW bus.

Over the din, I ask about her newest book, which is in the final edit phase and nearly ready to go to print. She confesses she's going through that phase where she is just sure it's terrible--which is hilarious because she is a FAN-FU%#ING-TASTIC writer. We laugh. I tell her I felt that same way right before Found released.

~

So here we are, well past one month into promoting Found, which is the culmination of an 18 year journey to know myself. The big window is still up at Powell's and my son is here, showing off.

In a few minutes I'll have another interview with a radio station in Florida and I'll tell my story again and find I can encapsulate my entire life into a few sentences. I suppose that is called "essence."

The feedback I have been getting is consistent and kind. This email came from a lovely woman in Canada (who allowed me permission to re-print):

Thank you for the beautiful gift of your most recent book, Found. It comes at a perfect time in my life. I am a 57 year old Canadian woman, who as a result of the legislation of the partial opening of adoption laws in the province of Ontario, Canada, has been able to locate my birth mother. I am trying to read and understand as much as I can before I proceed on my journey to self, a journey already of 6 years. My adoptive mother is 88, my birth mother is 77 and like most adoptees, I wish to control what happens now. I have asked an intermediary to contact my birth mother (who I have now marvelously seen a photo of, compliments of Facebook and Google as well as my 4 half brothers) to ask her whether she is willing to accept correspondence from me. My story is one of unbelievable luck and courage on the part of both my birth mother and my adoptive mother. We will see what happens next but your book resonated with me, like no other so far. Again many thanks and best wishes. I hope your time with Catherine continues to be meaningful for both of you. Regards, J

I leave for Florida next week, to attend the major adoption conference held in this country called American Adoption Congress. And then it is over to L.A. to do a reading panel with the lovely Hope Edelman and Dinah Lenny. We'll talk at Diesel Books about Writing about Family. I love both of these high energy women, they are so smart and funny. Hope has come up with a plan to serve cheesecake and champagne! What fun (and so smart).

~

My writer friend goes off to enjoy her children, husband and pizza and I've got my own extra large pie To-Go. It's hugs and kisses and promises to connect soon.

As I walk home, past the park where dogs run off leash and there is the crack of a ball against a baseball bat, I wonder about this thing I have with my writer friend. She's great and popular but really, aren't I being hard on myself? What's really going on? And that's when it hits me. My friend, like me, suffers from the wounds that come with losing her mother. The difference between her and I is that she is very real about her longing for her mother, she writes about it, talks about it and most of all, is honest. But me, I just keep my own longing tucked away and put on a happy face. The truth of the matter is this: I miss my mother. We lost the first 43 years of my life and have just sparked a new connection after a very troubling two year "mis-communication." Every day, I talk about her during the tour and each time, I miss her a little more. I suppose I just want to be with this woman, my mother. I want to watch a movie with her and hear her laugh and just build on what we have found in each other. I want to make the most of these years we have left together.

And there it is--the little sliver that's chewing on my heart.

A few steps later, I'm home again and up the steps. I walk in the door, pizza in a box and my kids call out "MOM." They are ready to eat! And I am going to call my mom.