Sunday, March 21, 2010
We’ve had a week that has made me believe Spring might actually come. It has delivered bright, almost blinding sunshine, blue skies and the kind of breeze that makes people on the street take off their jackets just to feel that sweet, sharp air against their skin. As Frank and I drove along Riverside Drive yesterday, I saw a man – tubby and white as a fish’s tummy, naked but for a pair of wrinkled short shorts, lying on the brownish, scrubby grass --- optimistically inviting a vicious sunburn.
For more than a year I’ve rather doubted the possibility that this Spring would arrive, as Spring 2010 meant that The Season of Second Chances would see the light of day. I guess it just seemed too much to hope for. It’s not that I think life never pays off. For heaven’s sake, I’ve had some of the greatest good fortune possible. Just luck -- in all forms – from the parents I was handed, to the talents they bestowed or encouraged or supported or paid for, to the friends and the health and the love and the times and the places we’ve landed, I am aware that I am nothing, if not fortunate. But this – the solid and safe landing of my book -- I’m just not sure. I’m a little afraid to hope – if you know what I mean.
Like you, I’ll bet, I’ve seen the most auspicious events fall through, due to nothing but bad luck. Our good friend, John Colapinto, launched his brilliant, funny, first novel, About the Author, just days before 911. Not the best environment for satire. Or retail.
But I’ve also seen a novel of Frank’s land on The Best Sellers List the week it arrived in the stores – so why am I choosing to expect the worst? And why, when I have a reputation for even-temper in the face of disaster, am I being so damned neurotic? I remember that a good friend, at the birth of her first child, was heard to scream to the staff in the delivery room – “Don’t touch me – just leave it in there!” I never felt closer to her than I do at this moment.