A Friday night stakeout on my front porch yielded fantastic results. Well after the sun set and the night bugs began their song, I sat on the concrete stairs and waited for the unmistakable rumble of a UPS truck. Instead, the low hum of a golf cart pulling a flatbed trailer signaled the arrival of a deliveryman, and I had to force myself to stay seated while he sorted through a load of packages.
The UPS man was a saint, a true gentleman, and made my big night even better with his kindness. He hauled almost 60 pounds worth of books to my front door, then asked if I needed help getting the boxes into the house. I did, but I told him I wanted to sit with the books for a while and just think. He asked if I was in a book club, and I told him that no, I wasn’t, and the boxes were full of my books, the first I’d ever gotten published. He seemed genuinely happy for me, and his care meant the world in that moment.
I sat on the porch for several minutes, staring at the book boxes and touching their sturdy cardboard sides. I watched stars begin to show in the deepening darkness of the sky, and a million memories and thoughts pinged inside my brain and tugged at my soul. I had no idea where the book journey would lead, but I knew the arrival of my copies meant the start of something, a beginning of some sort, and I was grateful and ready.