The Birthday Book Launch
The first batch of food went out the door—trays of scones, a pot of beef stew, and olive crostini. Two bros carried out the artwork, merch, and gifts, and a balloon lingers near the door, which I’ll bring later for my nephew Dan (celebrating an April birthday). We have a crop of daffodils to harvest, if needed, and a pile of energy to discharge when we all head over later this afternoon to the Velvet Mill for the Birthday Book Launch.
Messages light up my phone—well wishes, rsvp’s, questions on details.
We are prayed up, prayed on, praying. I hardly know what to say in this most unusual day—a book launch without a book, in an historic and revitalized mill in a picturesque fishing village in New England. What will the day bring?
We expect to laugh for hours and return exhausted.
The Velvet Mill
Peter and I pull in just behind our host Lisa’s neon green roadster, carrying a flock of balloons and a home depot bucket, with which she hoped to save a parking spot. A rambunctious March wind blew the bucket into a weird corner, but the parking spot remained open.
The crowds were pouring in as we parked on the street behind a tour bus—the Easter Bunny was in town (a bigger draw than me?!), along with bunches of vendors for market day.
A gray morning gloom and rain yielded to brilliant sun and that rambunctious wind. Could be warmer, could be worse.
By the time we found the Spirit Wind Center, Lisa had tethered the flock of balloons over the buffet table, and and cued up soothing spa music for guests. We greet Lisa and Jim, our hosts, and I set up my table while Peter adds final food offerings to the buffet.
I meet Meghan, the fantasy fiction writer. We talk shop for an excited, intense few minutes before the first guests arrive.
Friends, Fam, & Fans
Near and far, old and new, virtual and live. Family (17 of the tribe!), friends, and fans, old, young, and everything in between trickle in.
The chitter chatter hums along with the spa music in the light drenching us from the mill windows. Artwork, love, and creativity surrounds us, as do the prayers and Holy Spirit.
Showtime
Before long the trickle becomes a wave and the hum becomes a buzz. With greetings, tours, and directions to the buffet table, we blow past our 2 pm start time as people cluster around tables, ottomans, or the food and drink bars, and more guests arrive. Two families text that they’re lost in the mill, but on their way.
3 pm: Book Talk
Staring at a sea of expectant, quizzical, fatigued faces. What should I say, Lord? I probably have as many questions as they do.
The words tumbled out as I scanned the faces.
“It all started with a letter. . .”
A letter that became a book.
“It started in childhood. . .”
Or before time began.
“. . .a collision as metaphor for a soul journey—the passage of a soul through life.”
A hero’s journey.
“Any questions?”
A lively round of discussion.
“Did I forget to say….”
And then the kids helped me pass out stickers, cards, and bookmarks, then took off to see the Easter bunny. The adults returned to their conversations, food, and drink, or wandered the studio, flipping through bins of artwork. Some came to talk with me.
And then the exit trickle began, and I flopped on the couch with my niece Stephanie, the deep-talking introvert. We sat in a protective introvert silence, recovering from hours of human interaction and Holy Spirit operations.
The Salon
A new trickle began for the 5 pm salon. New pods formed around tables and buffet. 5 pm turned to 6:30 and we roused ourselves, resetting tables and chairs. A brave duet kicked us off, followed by storytelling, riddles, a silk banner display, dad jokes, eating, a poem, impersonations, readings, including an excerpt from my book, Collision, which Lisa and Peter enacted improvisationally behind me.
At 8 pm, we began to end, nibbling last munchies, locating our coats and the restrooms, gushing or hugging our thanks and goodbyes. Peter and I arrived home about 9, to debrief with Tom, share photos, and laugh at the funniest moments. Then it was off to bed, to thank God, sleep in, and take our waking slow.