Well, I got my glorious brush with fame last week when the uber-talented artist Robin Preiss Glasser (also known as MY illustrator!!!) came to town. 

She was touring Fancy Nancy and the Posh Puppy with author Jane O’Connor and I mean TOURING. At least one state per day. Sheesh — be careful what you wish for. 

I mean, most of us yearn for our publishers to toss a few bookmarks our way. 
A tour?!? Complete with airline tickets and a meal or two?!? Nirvana!

Well, let me tell you — they were tired. Posh, but tired. Jane had somehow gotten trapped in her seatbelt the night before and had to be extracated with a kitchen knife, and Robin had been hung-up on by the hotel’s tech guy who apparently decided she was too brain-dead to effectively access the wireless network. 

And the night after their Austin stop, they found themselves trapped by Houston thunderstorms. (Raise your hand if you’ve been trapped by Houston thunderstorms before. Double points if you’ve also been stranded at O’Hare at least once…)

Anyway, not that I’m not lusting after the glamorous life, but I was sort of glad to have breakfast with Robin, tour her around town a bit, cheer her on at the bookstore, and then Go Home. It’s cozy here, even if I don’t have turn-down service.

Still, the 1/2 day we got to spend together was delectable. We had never met, but we’ve phoned and emailed for enough years to consider each another friends. When I arrived at her hotel room, we hugged like sisters and then I curled up on her couch while she finished gettin’ fancy. 

Next, onto breakfast, where we got to dish about books and kids and husbands — totally titallating subjects, especially when you’re sitting in a comfy booth on a very rainy morning next to the woman who gifted you a more beautiful book than you’d ever dared imagine. 

I have been so blessed in my writing life by generous people. People who want success and happiness and books books books for me. 

My writing chums, from way back in college and then graduate school; the amazingly talented professors I’ve worked with, including Ron Wallace, Jim Magnuson, Judith Kroll and David Wevill; the illustrious Naomi Shihab Nye who believes, apparently, that there is enough space and success for everyone so she shares secrets like candy; my Goodness group who buoy me up everyday; so many SCBWI friends, including Dianna Aston, Lindsey Lane, Chris Barton, Julie Lake, Cynthia Leitich Smith, Jenny Ziegler, Don Tate, April Lurie, and gosh, a lot of others who’ve shared coffee, advice and editor’s secret addresses;  my colleagues at ACC; all the amazing bloggers I’m growing to know (Vivian, Jules and Eisha, Jen, Mary Lee and Franki, Kelly, and many other brilliant voices), and also Robin. I mean, this is the woman who sent me the watercolor original of our book cover to hang above my desk for good luck. As if I hadn’t already hit the jackpot…

I know this reads like a name-droppers notebook but rather than haughty I’m just incredulous — breathless– over my good fortune. That all of these vibrant, loving, talented folk are willing to share their time, their knowledge, bits of their life and humour and wisdom — gosh. 

Someday, may I be on a state-a-day tour and gift anyone with the same thoughtfulness. Even if I’ve had to get cut out of a seatbelt to do it…

For now I’ll hop down off my soapbox and just say that my time with Robin was perfect. She was funny and loving and big-hearted with her time and ideas and good wishes — and then, to top it off, she was fancy. She and Jane had a darling little schtick at the bookstore that included eating sweet round cookies off their pretty little pinkies and posture-walking with bananas on their heads.

And then we said goodbye and I sent her off into the rain. What a day. Rich and wondrous day. Almost as fine as when my editor at Harpers told me Robin’d said she’d illustrate my book.

This weekend was a laugh riot at our house. 

Funny faces stuck to Daddy’s back. Green milk in my coffee. A six-year-old dressed up like an aardvark, complete with pointy paper claws taped to the end of each fingernail. (I’m not sure if the joke here was that we have an aardvark for a daughter or that — surprise — she’s not really an aardvark. Either way, it was funny.)

But here’s the thing. All of these jokes unwound on Saturday. Which was March 31st. 

That’s right. Our whole family spent about two hours cuttin’ it up on the wrong day. By the time Sunday rolled around, we’d exhausted our creative depths and besides, nothing is as funny as celebrating April Fool’s Day in March.

Now what’s today again?

On Friday, we spent the evening soakin’ up the vibes at the annual Coffehouse and All-School Art Show at our beloved elementary school. 

This is the talent show to end all talent shows. 
The stage steams. The crowd swoons. Reality TV quakes in its Uggs. 

The objective stats: 
3 hours, a coupla dozen performances, a hungry line at the pizza table all night long. But that’s not the half of it. 

It’s the courage exhibited by these vivid, dynamic, uninhibited kids — singing, dancing, joking, kung fu-ing — in front of a cafeteria chock-full of parents, teachers, neighbors, friends. The curtain opens anew on each act, and there is a 6-year-old, finding her voice; two 5th grade boys playing a ragtime duet on the piano; a couple of 8-year-olds kickin’ a Scottish dance. 

To me there’s hardly a thing in the world more moving than young people courageous enough to put themselves out there and adults engaged enough to receive them with roaring applause. If there is this much heart available in your average elementary school — this much heart and imagination and humour and connection — all is not lost. 

Here were some highlights of the evening:

Our daughters. Naturally. 

Elder daughter played a Brahams waltz on her violin and took a deep and satisfying bow at the end; younger daughter played two songs on the piano at mock speed — I think with the hopes that she could get off the stage more quickly — but she was spot-on, and you should have seen her pink dress and her tiny feet dangling from the bench as she played.

Elder daughter also sang in a skit with 3 friends — a dramatization of Oh, Dear, What Can the Matter Be? — and her voice could’ve busted a goblet. 

A 3rd grade boy did an original comedy routine based on the fickle, funny life of a frozen lasagne. There’s no way I could do this one justice but suffice it to say that his timing was genius and I was not the only one with tears running down my cheeks. 

OK, everyone cried at this one, too. But I mean, really cried. A little boy — in 1st grade I think — singing Puff, the Magic Dragon and accompanied by his dad on guitar. He knew every slow, crushing word of every verse and he sang like a bell and the audience, little-by-little, chimed in very quietly at the chorus. All the way through the part where old Puff drags his lonely self off to a cave. It was utter heartbreak.

But then we were resuscitated by a little kindergartener doing a speed round of cup stacking. Who knew???

And then the 5th grade orchestra played Stand By Me, and there was a lovely Fur Elise on the piano and a couple of beautiful cello pieces, too. (A cello can put a lump in my throat the moment it’s set up on its end-pin.) But there was also hip-hop dancing and a sort of free-form drum solo and at least one original song — sung a cappella — through a microphone. I mean, have you ever been that brave?

The clincher, for me, was my friend Bernadette and her daughter reciting mother-daughter haiku. With their arms casually slung around each other’s waist. Haiku about their family, three walking-talking kiddos and a brand new baby, haiku about their family being its own party, about seeing each other in themselves, about love. That did me in completely.

At the end of the night, all the dads moved to fold up the tables and the kids ran wild on the darkened lawn until a few of them fell and skinned their knees. Then we reluctantly crawled away toward our own homes, not wanting to give each other up, to let go of the throbbing hum, the choir of voices, the whistles and whoops and laughter that happen when a whole group of folk comes together to celebrate the vision and voices of kids…

My only beef with National Poetry Month is the presumption that poetry be relegated to a single month — a terrible misinterpretation that would narrow the scope of the art rather than explode it wide open, which I’m sure was the founders’ intent. 

So, if we all agree that reading poetry only in April would be like granting love or chocolate just 30 humble days of our attention, then we can move forward and celebrate.

Hark! The arrival of National Poetry Month, a time to truly wallow in words when ordinarily we might merely float, wade or dabble.

And for the 9th year running, Knopf makes this an especially lush immersion with their Poem-a-Day emails and podcasts. The lazy man’s poetry search engine, Knopf does the work for you — selecting and sending a single piece each day in April. Your job is just to sit back, and absorb.

Knopf has published some of the country’s most beloved poets over the years so really, you can look on it as a little survey primer. Or as a multicourse, prix fixe meal. Or as a spiritual ritual. Sort of like lighting candles only without the puddles of wax on the tablecloth.

Would you like a little taste of things to come? This, from the Knopf site and written by Franz Wright:

During one of my sessions, when I came to the line “A pocket for a farmer is a dell, hi-ho…”, I asked the kids if they recognized that, from a song. “Yeah,” answered one world-weary little guy, “but it’s also a place to work.” Oh. Right. Dell.

When I was signing books, one particularly earnest little girl asked if they were going to have to give the books back. I pointed out her name in the inscription and said that it was hers, to keep. She leapt. Like a frog. Even hung there at the top of her jump for a moment, suspended with delight.

In the midst of one rather lively question-and-answer session, a student asked about the silver sticker on the front of my book. I explained that the book had been nominated for an award, and that the label recognizes that. A discussion ensued about “all those other books that win ‘cott awards” and I laughed and said something about how happy those labels make their authors.

“So is that why you do it?” asked a boy in the back. “Is that why you write books, to get more and more labels? To win more and more awards?” 

Wow. 

“No,” I answered. “I write books for you. I write books because I loved reading when I was a kid, and I loved being read to, and I’m inspired to be a part of that for you! Awards are a nice bonus, but they’re not why I write.”

Pause. Deep breath. Final answer.

“Yeah, that’s what I wanted to get outta you,” he said, satisfied.

 I was satisfied, too. I love a kid who knows what he wants.

ooouufff… I’ve been tagged by my friends at A Year of Reading.

Inquiring minds want to know which blogs I busy myself with (did someone say procrastinate??) besides the usual suspects (i.e. children’s authors, librarians and reviewers…)

Well, ahem:

My swankio designer chums, Shannon Lowry of Round Robin Press and Kathie Sever of Ramonsterwear both post blogs that are more visual than verbal. Feast yer eyes….

I like stopping in to read the latest commentary on MOMbo (broadcasting the everyday truth about motherhood in order to save the world) and, since February, MOMbo host Nanci Oelsen’s been blogging, too.

Facing Inward — my favorite yoga blog because it’s also about motherhood and marriage, making it accessible for yogamamas like me.

World Nomads Adventure, if I’m feeling restless. Lotta lotta lotta travel blogs. Yearning, lusting, checking the balance on our frequent flier accounts…

And for all my  other daily nutritional needs, Salon. Not technically a blog, I know, but gimme a break here. 

Now, let’s here from Jennifer Ziegler, Chris Barton and Alison Dellenbaugh.

Sorry to say that this is all I can muster up today, friends. 
Something more vital next week, I assure you!

Mussed sheets and cold soup —
what a sorry nest I’m in,
yearning for Mom’s eggs.

Mercury rising
and kids nearly home from school —
what will bring me down?

Pale pages wrinkled
by bath water and spilled juice —
good medicine still.

Thanks to Blue Rose Girls for the Poetry Roundup today!

Just a few bitty blurbs on our local book scene this morning:

1. Since I had no choice but to spend the week bouncing from bed to bath and back again — tissue and lozenges in hand — what better way to spend a day than reading Tantalize, by Cynthia Leitich Smith? She gifted us with beautiful hardbook copies at her book launch party a few weeks back — and mine’s been sitting here, tempting me. Now I know why I saved it! 

First, a disclaimer. This is sooo not my genre. I never went through an Anne Rice stage. Or a Bram Stoker stage. And I’ve even had to switch from a red wine drinker to a white because of headaches. But, whoa Betty, was this a fun ride! I won’t be doing any spoiling here, but suffice it to say that you’re gonna be looking askance at folks out there for a few days after reading this. Ca-REEEEPY. Now, lay in some seriously sensual props and food stuffs, and get reading. In my case, this consisted of tomato soup, raspberry jello and some nasty tasting tincture. You can do better, folks.  

2. I’ve been waiting for A Seed is Sleepy ever since An Egg is Quiet hit the shelves. Things of utter beauty, these books. Our dear Dianna Aston is one of the great noticers I was talking about recently, and she’s clearly found a sister in Sylvia Long. The thing I love about these books is that you can use them in so many ways — as a poetic little lullaby; as some wholly palatable science; for pure, pictorial pleasure, or as a matching game from front cover to back. Yea! Spring is here…

3. Drum roll, please. Next Friday, March 30, Robin Preiss Glasser, the deeply talented illustrator of A Sock is a Pocket for Your Toes, will be at BookPeople, our big-and-beautiful independent bookseller downtown! She’s visiting with author Jane O’Connor in celebration of their newest Fancy Nancy title. There are sure to be some boas and tiaras in the crowd. 

I might wear a tutu myself, and here’s why. Although we’ve struck up a really lovely long-distance friendship over the years, we’ve never met in person! This is like a blind date, only we’ve already married and had a baby together. Tee hee. Giddy, giddy, giddy. See you Austinites at BookPeople at 11 a.m.

Get fancy!

So the  American Psychological Association has issued a big report on the “sexualization” of younger and younger girls, thanks to R-rated dolls, clothing, games, music and whatnot. And, linking the effects to eating disorders, low self-esteem and depression in girls and women. Oi.

Anyone find this a tad bit ironic, in the days of don’t-say-scrotum and such? We are one confused group of folk when it comes to bodies, health and sexuality.

What do you think? Skin comfort sounds good, hunh?