nothing on my mind

The other afternoon, confined to my room again by the falling rain, I picked up a copy of my book “Astoria Strange” from a pile on the floor and read through the ‘Introduction.’ Enchantment.

While reading and remembering, the thought came to me that the writing and publishing of “Astoria” was and is one of the great accomplishments of my life. I said it out loud. A legacy. Something I will have left to the planet.

I have worked a long career in human services – it’s still happening – and I have been offered one chance after another after another to be of some kind of help. It matters, the invitation is a grace. A few awards along the way, some tears when I left one place for another. Twice in a couple of weeks hearing from different folks, “You have no idea what you mean to people.” And I don’t think I do.

I do, though, know how it feels to hold the thickness of “Astoria Strange” in my hands, To pick it up once in a while, spur of the moment decision to read “Art Theft,’ or “Elsbeth’s Story,” or “Turnaround Place,” maybe for the 15th time each. I wrote that book. I’m getting to leave it as some part of me. To the planet.

That’s pretty cool.