Ain’t life grand?

Oh what a day! I’ve been trying to get a coherent post together since two days ago when I was delayed for three hours in the Nashville airport. The oddest of circumstances have stymied my efforts at every turn. I’m up near Boston visiting a friend and by a weird twist of events, ended up unexpectedly running a booktable for my parents today at a nearby conference. Selling books, I can do. And usually, I can get some blogging done in between. But today, my chair was situated right in front of the storage closet for the facility, so literally every ten minutes, I had to hop out of the way as a steady stream of workmen came in and out of the door. There was just no other place I could reasonably be. The poor guys, they’d grin apologetically and I’d scootch out of the way, apologizing profusely when I forgot they were in the closet, and they pushed the door open to almost send me sprawling- again. Ah. Dignity. Try to finish a sale in the midst of that, let alone an insightful post on the vagaries of modern travel (which was what I was going for)!

It was almost made up though by the exuberant welcome I received tonight from my friend’s Stephanie‘s four, tiny, darling children. It’s a flash flood, the patter of small feet and the clasp of little arms. “Sarah,” said a tiny one with a riot of black curls, my face scrunched between her hands. “Thank you for coming back to us. I love you.” Somehow she manages to say it with a British accent, and I reply in kind. And then there were tiny bodies cuddled next to me on the couch, and fresh cookies, and a late night watching of Bleak House (which you ought to see if you haven’t). And of course, philosophying with my friend over tea, which is a tonic to make any day better. And tomorrow there will be further languishing discussions with cups of coffee when my brother and parents join the cottage life here. Steph has been cooking since dawn.

And oh, walks in the leaves. Have you ever seen a maple tree in autumn burn in every vein with the fire of a glad, willing death? It’s almost indecent its so lovely. I saw one tree next to a cream-colored saltbox house yesterday, and it looked as if it would set the woods aflame. Walking through the forest up here with the trees just turned is like reading Beowulf. You enter an ancient existence where heroes die in battle and are farewelled with bonfires in the brooding dark. Every leaf is a warrior fighting to its death.

So, the real post is going to have to wait until I fly back to Nashville on Tuesday. I have two flights anyway, but if I get delayed another three hours, I might actually get something profoundly written. The Charlotte airport, my stopover place, has rocking chairs. Sounds good for thinking. Till then, I hope you have as lovely a weekend of feasting and friends and fall to look forward to as I have. You must enjoy this season. There is simply no other way to exist. I’ll see you Tuesday!



Filed under Uncategorized

3 responses to “Ain’t life grand?

  1. Karin

    Sarah, it was such a pleasure to finally meet you at the book table yesterday, as I’ve kept up with your blog for a while now! I am glad for that strange twist of events – I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to be there. You are a lovely woman, and I wish I could have sat down for a cup of coffee with you.

  2. Can I just say that I love how you write!! Your words really do paint pictures and fly off of the page. It’s so nice. I’m glad you’re having a wonderful trip, even with the book fair seating chaos (which I found quite amusing). Wish I could be crunchin’ some fall leaves with you! Happy fall, friend. 🙂

  3. Miss Lynn

    I flew through charlotte tuesday going to visit my Dad. I hope we weren’t there at the same time!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s