Sarah E. Moffett

Women of the Word
Council Bluffs, Iowa
Borders
Lee’s Summit, Missouri
Barnes & Noble (Plaza)
Kansas City, Missouri

Thirty-six hours after Mother and I had returned from our 450 mile road trip, we embarked on a slightly shorter one—421 miles—along the same languid stretch of I-435/29. In the words of one immortal writer, we returned from whence we came. Or in the more modern melodies of a true road warrior…

“On the road again, oh how I could wait to get on the road again…”

Not quite Willie Nelson’s version, but I suspect there were times he felt that way too.

A family friend and book mentionee (my new word of the day. Embrace.) had invited me to present my book to her personal ministry Women of the Word. Peg Christensen, who founded WOW, was one of the nurses that worked with my late Uncle. She and her family were also a network of support and encouragement to my family while struggling with Uncle Dave’s illness. It was therefore no small honor to have the opportunity to share the story as reflected in Growing Up Moffett with her ministry. It also was an excellent opportunity to publicly apologize for butchering the spelling of their last name in the book. It was to be a lovely event. It was to require another 400+ miles of fun.

Once again, Saint Rachel braced herself for my best Norma Shearer impression and drove my tired self half a thousand miles to and from Iowa.

Again with the blessing of her.

Upon return to Missouri, it was time for some family based R & R, which in typical Moffett fashion included Southern cooked meals, puttering around Mom’s newly planted gardens, Beks, KT and I staying awake all hours, watching the stars from the trampoline, and using up my entire word quota for the next month. Highlights included keeping both of my sisters up until all hours, staring at my favorite Van Gogh at the Nelson-Atkins, investigating small town America’s furniture store, and trying not to melt in the heat. You know it’s hot when even the birds go silent.

Saturday was my last day in the Midwest, as I stumbled into Borders in Lee’s Summit. The first book went to a seven year old. Well, she looked seven. She came up to the table, looked at me, and said “I think I’d like to buy your book.” I wanted to give it to her. Then she added, “it’ll give me something to read until Harry Potter’s newest book comes out.” I liked her even more for her honesty.

Then came the dear soul who wanted to test the worthiness of my literary and philosophical spirit with a 20 minute discussion of science-fiction and Einstein. Apparently, I failed said test miserably. This required a second Pellegrino.
Somewhere between the literary savvy and intellectually elite that cruise the bookstore aisles of America’s corporate, mainstream offerings, I learned two very important things. One, bookstores are kept extra cold in the summer to keep the humidity out in a vain effort to prevent pages from curling. Two, I love seven year olds.

Next stop was Kansas City’s Plaza Barnes & Noble, a four floor homage to all things literary, feng shui, and suavely Midwestern. (Yes, those two words can go together.) I had the pleasure there of signing books with two other authors, catching up with old friends and making new ones, while trying not to shake with excitement at the thought this was my last book event for a month.

The introvert in me wanted to have crack open a bottle of Dom Perignon, spray everyone just-won-the-World-Series-style, and go running out the door to a Tibetan monastery that required a vow of silence for a month.

Instead, I smiled, I laughed, I hugged, and I left.

Now I’m home, presently sitting on my patio, watching the clouds change the shape of shadows on the summer-worn grass. It’s beautiful.

Acknowledgments: Dad, Mom, Bekah and KT, thank you for indulging me. Vicki, Ms. Stoeltzing, the Stoelburgs, the Mashburns, the Eddingtons, Liz, and everyone who else who promoted, shared, and supported, bless you. Kandy, cannot wait to see those letters.

[Listening to the wind ripple thru the trees.]

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