My office chair, kindly holding a few things for me

My office chair, kindly holding a few things for me

Okay, so I’ve had four readings, and all of them were wonderful. The Tattered Cover/Colfax one was extremely well-attended, which i attribute to the fact that my sister and mother collectively know every living being in East Denver, and they were all there. But, gosh. My senior prom date was there (that’d be you, Steve Epstein), the parents of all three of my high school best girlfriends were there, my very own dear sister Greta flew in from San Francisco. It was fantastic! It was pretty much standing-room only, and I found to my extreme happiness that I LIKED answering questions about race, power, class — all things I thought I’d sprint away from as fast as my little pink feet could carry me.

After this incredible high came the days after — my sister flew back to SFO, the house looked like its been hit by a bomb (see picture), our beloved cat of 15 years died. God. That was so hard. He’s still laid out in state on our (secondary) kitchen table, on dry ice, surrounded by candles and flowers. This is what happens when you’re married to a Tibetan Buddhist, who believe it takes three days for the soul to get its bearings, pack up, and actually leave the body. It’s actually really nice to have Sandy around for a few more days. He was a sweet, courtly, adorable cat — definitely the most mellow member of our household — and I cry about him pretty much every other hour.

Then, two days ago, Stanford’s sister Arilda called to tell me Stan’s back in the hospital. He went on Tuesday, in an ambulance, with bad stomach pain. This dealt a death blow to any lingering exuberance I might have had about the early readings, and the fact that our book is being carried by COSTCO! and all the great feedback we’ve both gotten…

Gain and loss, the Buddhists say. The wheel never stops turning. And, as Stan so gently told the mare in his corral the first day I knew him: “I can’t save you.”

So I’m balanced, if walking around the house between my getting-all-gorgeous garden and exploded office and dead cat is balance, if hearing good news about the book and bad news about Stanford’s pain level is balance.