There was this one bookstore in Del Mar that I browsed every week.  The owner was a sweet New England woman. Her collection and arrangement likened to  going into a candy shop as a little girl.  Over stuffed chairs, benches and a roundtable for readings and workshops were not unused. People spent hours in her salon of literature. Right next door was the Pannikin Coffee House that catered to loyalists of aromatic coffee, pastries and slouching.  I ordered coffee, sat outside on the walkway and read the book I had just bought.  Almost every time I bought a book the cashier commented, ‘ I love that book, or that looks interesting. ‘

At that time I was working on one of the first drafts of my book.  I  browsed  every new display title, imagining someday my book would be sitting upright on a table. I remember the day I drew up enough courage to tell the owner about my book.  She raised her brows and smiled, ” Well, you’ll have to do a book signing when it’s published.”

After a year or two, she quit asking how my book was coming along, and I quit going into the bookshop.

Today twenty-three later, I am signing my book at La Posada Hotel.  This is why I am remembering those days in Del Mar, when the dream of completion seemed light years away. ‘You have to dream baby’ Carlitos Way.

One week ago I published my first and not the last book.  It is in the past, and yet not.  Instead of checking PM, tweets, facebook, emails and text a few times a day, your voices on the digital wire are a continuum of exultation. A writer doesn’t accept their work until those reviews come in.  An enormous hug and kiss to all of you who have expressed approval.

Just know that every time one of you writes about my book, I think of when we met, the memories we made, and the immortality of what I remember.  As I said on the acknowledgment page  in the book, without you I wouldn’t have walked through the archway to my ancestry.

There is a mystical rainbow over this book. For the first time, my father’s relatives are learning about their abashed cousin, uncle, grandfather, and friend. I feel the river of change taking me into the current. It will be my  ride because I am ready to steer on my own.

THE WINDS OF CHANGE are stirring up both outside and inside. There’s a moment when the decision has to be made; some harmful habit has to be cut.

I wish I was going to Arthur Crowley’s Thanksgiving party with Dad this year. I’ve written about them before; real Hollywood-Beverly Hills elite sealed in sarcasm. Beneath their beautiful brittle bark, hearts were warmed, and humor unleashed. I’m of age now; where I could transform to their rhythm of raucous.

The sky is overcast, metallic gray rolling clouds are gracefully blowing the leaves. Nature has the wellness of change, it’s dark and then it’s light.

I gave Createspace the final approval to print this week. It’s not easy to let go and the fear of rejection fires an extra punch. What to do? Go for a walk and say over and over, I’m just a little bite of life in the greatness of living.  Make your Thanksgiving a day of friendship, not politics, otherwise, the turkey will gobble!