Interesting stuff

Well, I did it.  I went to the book meeting even though I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about going.  I would have felt guilty, I guess, if I hadn’t gone.  After all, signing up for this was the first step I’d taken after my sister’s death.  I couldn’t abandon my new direction for my life at the first step.

I was early.  I am rarely early for anything.  I was told by my friend that I needed to be there by 2:00 to hear the author I like speak to the group.  The informational sheet had warned of limited parking.  I didn’t want to walk several blocks, and I was coming from quite a distance.  So, I allowed myself a lot of time to be there.  Way too much time.  The author didn’t speak until 4:00.  One of the women who was volunteering for the program mentioned that I should win an award “for being there the longest” as I had been one of the first attendees to arrive.

Have you been to a party where you didn’t know anyone?  That is what it was like.  I did know one person-one of the hosts-whom I did speak to, very briefly.  He really didn’t remember me, as I know him only through our children, who are now adults.  Other than that, I smiled at several people, made a few comments to others, and did a lot of people watching. There was some good people watching.

Did you know that Indian rugs are used as ponchos now?  I didn’t.  I saw two women who were wearing rectangular, fringed Indian print fabric with a slit cut into the middle where their heads protruded.  I laughed to myself when I saw the first  “Whoa!- that’s weird!” went through my head.  Then I saw the second, and my thought was “Oh, no! It’s fashionable??”

Much of the afternoon involved “speed chatting” with local authors.  I sat in on three groups.  All very different authors, all very interesting.  It was nice to hear them talk informally, answering questions.  They really aren’t that different from me.  I can do this! Writing is not impossible.

As I was writing this, my husband came up behind me and began to read what I am writing.  My stomach started twisting and my head began to hum. I really don’t want him to read this.  Why?  It feels so private, but it is going out on the internet.  It makes no sense.  Will I feel the same way about something that I write for a class?  Will I be okay with sharing it?  Or is it just my husband whom I don’t want to read what I write?  It really isn’t fair, he tries to be supportive.  I can’t even explain why I don’t like him to read things.  I am going to have to think that over a little more to figure out my feelings.

Overall, it was an interesting afternoon.  Now I have to write a fundraising letter for my candidate.  That is even harder than this.

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