I can really taste the nutmeg

 I met Judy Blume.

I stood within two feet of her and HAD A CONVERSATION WITH HER.

Oh yes.
I am her friend now. (She said she considers all her readers to be her friends, and I'm one of her readers, so I'm her friend. Shut up.)
It was amazing.
She was as kind and friendly and gentle and funny and sweet as you would expect her to be.

Meg Wollitzer, who is another author I adore, interviewed Judy for this program, and also signed books afterward.
As she signed my copy of The Interestings, she commented about my name being that of the county in Ireland.
She's my friend, too.

And so is Sheri Moore Weppel, who is a lovely example of how online friendships can be rewarding, fulfilling and very real.

You can see how Sheri would be fun to hang out with.

Gary Rith suggested that we become friends, as we both love beagles, books and yoga in all sorts of variations.


We met in real life, so they say, last summer, when I also got to meet the amazing Miss Olivia (and Jason, Sheri's husband and Olivia's daddy).

And then Sheri found out Judy Blume was speaking nearby and invited me to come join her.

It was amazing.

For one thing, it was my first rental car experience. Not my first time in a rental car; I'm not that much of a rube. My first time renting and driving one myself. It was fun. I was worried I would be overly anxious about having the responsibility, but it was fun to drive a little car that was new to me, with a port for my ipod right in the dash, and best of all, return it when I was done.

I saw fun things, like this puppy bar outside a gas station in New Milford, PA.

And not so fun things, like the Lehigh Tunnel, which was under construction and therefore squeezed two-way traffic into one tunnel. I started getting a little queasy going through it the first time, mostly because I wasn't prepared
for it, I think. It wasn't as bad coming back through on the way home. But still, not anything I'd like to do on a daily basis.

When I got to Sheri's, we had fantastic sushi and talked about yoga, then went to a couple wineries and did some tastings. I bought a bottle of Chambourcin, a variety we don't have up here in the Finger Lakes that I enjoyed very much. I told her about when I worked for Dr. Frank's winery one summer and how occasionally we'd just make stuff up during tastings to test how far the power of suggestion would go. The tastings staff would watch for signs that the people in the group weren't terribly experienced with wines, then just completely fabricate, saying things like, "In this one, you're going to get just a hint of black pepper, with subtle spices in the finish. Do you taste the nutmeg?" And inevitably, the tastees (?) would nod vigorously and say, "Oh, yes, I can really taste the nutmeg."

Then we went off to see Judy, with plenty of time to get seats as close to up front as we could. It was in a middle school auditorium, because, really, where better to hear Judy Blume talk? (They probably couldn't fit us all in the school library.) It was so cool to look around and see who came out to worship at the altar of Blume. There were women there with their FIRST EDITION copies of Are You There God, It's Me, Margaret. And others with books whose covers I remember from my school library growing up. There were mothers and daughters there together, girlfriends young and old, even a few dudes. (Sheri and I came to the conclusion that Superfudge seems to be the boys' Margaret.)

And then there was Judy.

She was amazing.

And bless her heart, she stayed to sign every person's book who wanted one signed. EVERY LAST PERSON. There were over 500 people attending the event. Judy stayed for over 2 hours after the program finished to sign books. Sheri and I were among the last dozen people in line (we were smart-

we just stayed in our seats and waited for the end of the line to reach us). Judy was still, after all that, so sweet and genuine and friendly. I thanked her for staying to do this, it really meant so much to her fans. She smiled and said, "Of course I would! I love my readers- I owe them everything!" I said I hoped she wasn't too tired. She said she was either so tired that she would sleep like a log, or so tired that she just cried. I told Judy Blume I hoped she didn't cry.

Her husband George was there, helping out, taking pictures, chatting with the crowd. He looked like a sea captain.

Then, as if anything could be better than TALKING TO JUDY BLUME IN PERSON, we went to a speakeasy called the Bookstore.

It was one of the coolest establishments I've ever been in. There are no signs, just a door that says "Bookstore" down a couple stairs on a side street. Inside, it was dark, with candles flickering in hurricane lamps, glass-doored barrister bookcases filled with old books everywhere, slightly sinister-looking portrait paintings hanging in giant gilt frames in odd places (facing the bathroom doors). The bartender was dressed in a pinstriped shirt and suspenders, and even though the kitchen had closed, he very nicely rounded up some snacks for us- sweet potato chips, fig toasts with goat cheese, a cheese platter. The menus for both food and drinks are pasted into the pages of a real antique book.

So are the rules for the establishment, which in a nutshell, are that you can't stand anywhere- you must be seated (how they get around having all those candles in hurricane glasses), anyone seen playing on their phone while ignoring the party they are there with will be asked to leave, and ordering a Coors Lite is grounds for immediate expulsion from the premises.

I had a William Henry Pratt. It smelled- and tasted- heavenly. Sheri went for the custom cocktail- you pick two words from the menu page for custom cocktails and the bartender concocts a drink for you based on those terms. She picked "berry" and "bubbly" and the result was so good, it could kill you.

The next day we got up bright and early and went off to aerial barre class, which was knee-shakingly hard, but we did some really cool poses in the hammock. Breakfast was, of course, required after such exertions.

I bought Minchy, Frances & Ozzie some souvenir treats at Olivia's favorite pet bakery, The Dining Dog. Then I was off in my little rental car and on my way.

While it was good to be home (although the dogs totally ignored me once they got their mitts on the pork roses I brought them from the Dining Dog) I had so much fun on my adventure and even better, it

Yeah, she's Judy's friend, too.

was wonderful to spend time with a friend "in real life" that you had found through cyberspace. Maybe next time we'll bring our new BFFs, Judy and Meg, along for the ride.

Paradise Found

Well, unfortunately, I missed posting last week.

It was kind of crazy, with a lot of out of town travel, and beyond that, I didn't know what to write about.

The two things at the front of my mind lately have been the devastating but beautiful book I've been reading, A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara (I was
relieved to read one reviewer confess that she too had been revisiting the characters in her dreams every night while reading it) and Ireland voting to legalize same-sex marriage (the #hometovote pictures and posts were extraordinarily heartwarming and moving). Interesting, yes, but nothing I felt like writing about.

Then I attended the big fundraiser luncheon for my local library.

It's a lovely event- really a "see and be seen" of philanthropists and fundraisers and best yet, library lovers. As part of their "21st Century Library Campaign," the Library Foundation has been encouraging library storytellers, people who are willing to share their thoughts and anecdotes about why public libraries are so important to them.

I promised I'd write my library story but I've been a big procrastinator; since I was so inspired at the library luncheon today, I thought I'd write it here.

We moved to Canisteo, NY when I was about five. We had a red brick house that I loved for a variety of reasons- the apple tree in the backyard that could not have been more perfect for climbing, the playroom just off the dining room, the ferns that grew in the side yard next to the storm cellar door, just like Dorothy had in Kansas in the Wizard of Oz. But the best part about our house on Russell Street, which I didn't know at first, was that it was around the corner from the library.

Our little town library, the Wimodaughsian (named after the Wives, Mothers & Daughters of the Civil War, or maybe it was the Revolution, I can't quite remember and I haven't been able to verify this anywhere online) was founded in 1897 and located in a big old creaky white house. There were stairs that led upstairs to a second story where no one was allowed, dark patterned wallpaper in the foyer, and the adult section had an ancient marble fireplace. There were little rooms and halls off rooms, crammed with bookshelves teeming with books. The children's department was a small open room off the circulation desk area with a table and chairs, a beanbag or two. Beyond the children's department was a room filled with glass cases housing various taxidermied birds, a collection both fascinating and frightening, as well confusing (why was there a

GAH.

room full of dead birds at the library?)

My mom, who passed along her love of reading to me, took me to get our library cards not long after we'd settled in. I remember with a children's card you could check out a maximum of seven books at a time, and only from the children's department. I was in absolute, besotted heaven. I'd totter home, devour my books and be ready for more within a day or two, pestering my mom to make another trip back to the Wimodaughsian. My diligence and voraciousness caught the attention of the librarian, Lu Mlott.

Mrs. Mlott was not a coddler. You had to earn her respect and trust when it came to her library. She expected you to care for her library's books with the same devotion and reverence she had for them. I remember how grave and serious she was when she told me that I had permission to check out any book in the library I wanted; I was free to browse the adult titles in the room with the long-dormant fireplace. I was officially given an adult library card at age seven.

It made such an enormous impression on me that I can still remember it happening- Mrs. Mlott leaning over to carefully look me in the eye as she bestowed this privilege and responsibility on me. I will always treasure that gesture because it was one of the first times I was treated as a fellow or peer, and not just a child. I was a reader, and in Mrs. Mlott's estimation, that made us members of the same tribe.

Eventually, I was allowed to go to the library by myself, cutting through backyards instead of taking the long way on the sidewalk up Orchard Street and onto Main.The library became my sanctuary, my safe place, the "happy place" we're instructed to visit in our minds when we're stressed or scared or upset.

I was convinced for years that libraries pumped anti-anxiety meds into the recirculated air. One foot inside a library and I'd instantly feel better. No matter what was happening in my life, a few moments in a library (and it applies to all I've known) and I'd feel like everything would be okay. Maybe there's some kind of chemical that ink and paper and binding glue give off when combined; perhaps all those books living in one space act together on brain chemistry to soothe and satiate.


Holly Golightly got it wrong. It's not Tiffany's that helps chase away the mean reds; it's libraries. Her line about how she felt at the jewelry store so perfectly describes libraries for me: "the quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there."

When Holly (or LulaMae) got the mean reds (not the blues, mind you- "The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of"), the only thing that did her any good was to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's.


I go to the library.



PS- And speaking of books, I'm seeing Judy Blume in one week!! Eeeeeee!!!!!!!

A Uniquely Portable Magic

“Books are a uniquely portable magic.”
― Stephen King

My friend Sheri invited me to hear Judy Blume speak down in PA where she lives with her husband and her sinfully adorable beagle, Olivia, who looks like a cross between my Minchy and Frances. It's not till June but I am so unspeakably excited.

Judy Blume was one of my favorite authors growing up and she holds a special, very dear place in my heart. The kids in her
books were so real- warts and all- and she wrote so honestly about them. It's easy to forget how revolutionary that was when she was first published.

Coming just before this was the news of Harper Lee publishing her second novel 50+ years after To Kill A Mockingbird. I must admit, I was worried that this was some cobbled-

together half-hearted sequel, a revisitation of characters who lived best in memory. I was quite pleased to learn that Go Set A Watchman, the new novel, is not such a thing at all. It's Lee's first version of To Kill A Mockingbird, written as an adult Scout returns home to Maycombe and Atticus. Her editor suggested she focus more on the past and on Scout as a child, and To Kill A Mockingbird was born. Go Set A Watchman was lost in a drawer somewhere until recently- Lee herself admits she thought the manuscript was lost forever. Doing some writing myself and seeing how my own story has changed and twisted and turned as I've gone along, I'm thinking this will be at least a fascinating look into how her story evolved. Like my friend Eric said, even if it's crap, it'll be better than most of what's out there now anyway.

I have a very special fondness for "Nelle." (Did you know she was named after a favorite aunt? Nelle, apparently, is for Ellen, but spelled backward.) I can't really think of Harper Lee as anyone but Nelle after seeing a wonderful documentary called "Hey Boo" celebrating the book's fiftieth anniversary. The documentary featured lots of interviews with Lee's sister Alice, who only refers to her as Nelle. (And has one of the most startling voices you'll ever hear.) Alice, bless her, was a

Alice on the left, Nelle Harper on the right

lawyer who still worked for the firm where their father had practiced until she was in her 100s. She also guarded her sister- and her sister's work- fiercely and some folks have been wondering if Alice's death last year is the reason we're seeing this new work.

I've always loved how independent Nelle is- how she's refused to fit in or be assimilated or be conventional. A friend of mine once criticized how reclusive she is- who says no to attention? Everybody wants attention, right? Why, she could be out making millions, getting guest spots on TV! I very much disagreed. I think Nelle is the example of how to do it right: give the world one absolutely perfect piece of art, then keep the rest of your life for yourself. I admire that way of thinking so much and I hope I get the chance to emulate it someday.

I also love the story of how Lee came to finally write what became To Kill A Mockingbird. She worked as a ticket agent for an airline in New York. For seven years, she wrote fiction whenever she could, mostly nights and weekends, but didn't publish anything. In 1956, she received the best Christmas gift ever. Her friends, Michael and Joy Brown, gave her a check for the amount of her salary for one year with a note that said, "You have one year off from your job to write whatever you please. Merry Christmas." She made good on that opportunity. (Click the link above to read Lee's essay about the gift. It's wonderful.)

So it's a pretty awesome time for readers. Which makes me very happy. Reading is one of my most favorite things to do, and my oldest pasttime.  I learned to read when I was about two and a half. It wasn't taught; for me it was as natural as learning to walk. My mother says I just picked up the TV Guide one night and started reading the listings to her. When she and my dad told my dad's beloved grandmother, Mimi, she was

skeptical. They gave me one of my books and I read it out loud to her. She wasn't falling for it. Little kids memorize their favorite books and then recite them, pretending they're reading, she said. My dad shrugged and handed me a newspaper. She was a believer when I started reading headlines about Nixon to her.

I have never been able to imagine a world without reading. I found it mind-boggling that it was something others had to learn, and that some had great difficulty with. It came so quickly and automatically to me, that it never occurred to me that a process might be involved. One of the reasons I love Scout in To Kill A Mockingbird so much is that she shares that singular experience: “Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing.” I went to graduate school to study literacy primarily out of curiosity- I wanted to know how people learned how to read when it wasn't second-nature. (I wound up with masters' degrees in elementary education and reading education instead, but that's beside the point.) I still find the arguments over which methodology is best to teach reading quite pointless. Reading is such an individual thing- it seems fairly ridiculous to think there is only one prescribed way to acquire it.

I'm just about due for a library binge and I'm excited to think about the armfuls of books I'll toddle out
carrying. There is no better way to get through these dismal, gray, bitterly cold days than with a good thick book and a dog curled up on your lap. After all, like Groucho Marx said, "Outside of a dog, a book is a man's best friend. Inside of a dog it's too dark to read."