Anne and I sat on the floor in our living room, while Two Zombies Later played on the stereo (which I’d rechristened as a Hi-Fi for this special occasion.)
A half-empty box of The Happiest Days of Our Lives was on one side of us, a shipping container on the other, a stack of envelopes between us.
"This reminds me of when we did Dancing Barefoot," I said, as I struggled to put a book into an envelope.
"Me too" She said.
The book caught on the corner of the envelope, and tore it. For the third time. I crumpled it and threw it down into a growing pile of failed attempts.
"Except I don’t recall it being this tough to get the books into the envelopes." I said, "or maybe I just have stupid fingers today."
Ferris walked into the room, flopped down onto the rug next to Anne, and rolled onto her back.
"Someone is very happy to be with us in the living room," Anne said. Ferris wagged her tail in agreement: Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Ahem." I said. "I believe you mean ‘the shipping department.’"
She smiled.
"I like doing this with you again," she said.
I successfully worked the book into an envelope.
"Fourth time is the charm, I guess," I said.
"Go you." Anne said.
I turned the envelope over, and stuck a shipping label on the front side.
"This one’s going to Portland," I said. "That’s cool. I like Portland."
I put it with about several of its brothers into a shipping box, on loan from the United States Postal Service. I know that it’s on loan, because every flat surface on the box reminds me of this fact, and warns me against attempting anything ‘unauthorized’ with it. I will admit to spending a considerable amount of time pondering what sort of ‘unauthorized’ mayhem this box and I could have together. I wonder what kind of go-kart or fort it could make?
"You know what I love?" I said.
"Me?"
"Yes. You know what else I love?"
"Ferris?"
Thump. Thump. Thump.
"Yes. You know what else I love?"
We shared an impish look. Before she could answer, I said, "I love it that each of these books represents a person out there in the world who wants to read something I’ve written. Sending one box to a bookstore is one thing, but sending these directly to readers feel so much more . . ."
"Awesome?"
"I was going to say ‘real,’" I said, "but, yeah, ‘Awesome’ works, too."
I looked around me. My beautiful wife, my awesome dog, a box of books — my books, that I created — waiting to find their way into the hands and homes of people who want to read them.
"Yeah. This is awesome."
