The event

Did I say earlier in the week that a dozen butterflies were tap-dancing in my stomach? If you think I was nervous then, you should have seen me this past Saturday morning; I was a wreck. I woke up at 2 A.M. that morning and had the hardest time getting back to sleep. I had too much on my mind. I finally slipped off into a restless slumber just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. All too soon I was awakened to the smell of fresh brewed coffee.

Coffee at this hour? Somebody must be out of their mind, I thought. Groggily, I looked at the clock on the nightstand. Oh great. It was already six o'clock. Just a few precious hours until the signing. I've just gotta do something to get my mind off everything for a while, I mused, running my fingers through my hair.

I couldn't see much because I had slept with my contacts in, so I followed the smell of the coffee to the kitchen. John was already sitting, half-asleep, at the kitchen table. We both blew kisses at the general direction of each other and mumbled drowsy "hellos;" neither one of are morning people until we have that first delicious sip of coffee. I set a mixing bowl on the counter with a plunk, and combined ingredients together to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Kneading the dough was very relaxing. Finally, it was time to go.

The ride to Waco was uneventful, except for my well-meaning family asking me if I was nervous every 5 minutes. Everytime they asked, waves of butterflies in tiny tap shoes did the "River Dance" in my stomach. I tried hard to be polite, but I wanted departly to be left alone to my thoughts. As we arrived in the parking lot of the book store, I felt my pulse quicken. The store looked to me like a giant gaping monster, waiting to devour its' prey; like the frightened little bunny I am, I wanted nothing more then to scurry home and hide, but that was not an option.

I was greeted by the manager of the store, whose personality put me instantly at ease. They came forward with a HUGE wooden table and padded chairs, and even helped me to set up. I can't say enough good things about the staff at Hastings book store; they treated me like royalty. They constantly asked me if I was "okay" and if they could get me anything to drink or eat.

At the beginning, the flow of shoppers into the store was very slow, and I got a little bored. The first person to my table was a tiny white-haired lady with a trouble expression on her face. She studied my books and info, then, in a wavering voice, said that her sister had loved dogs. Oops. . .I missed the word HAD in her sentence. Undaunted, I suggested that if she buyed a copy of the book, then I would be happy to sign it for her. Tears ran down her face as she explained that she had just attended her sister's funeral a few days ago. I spluttered a heartfelt apology, then listened as she told me story after story of her sister. Her stories were interesting, and I found myself engrossed in them. After a while, she said "good-bye" and tottered off. I felt blessed to have met such a person.

I had a blast that whole day, and the store sold out of all the ". . .Dog Lover's Soul" that they had; all signed by me.

I had several people come by and talk to me, and had a few to gawk at me from a distance. The best moment of the day was when a shy young lady--around the age of 20-- approached me as I was getting ready to leave. I had a few people still around me, and her quiet voice was almost inaudible. Very gently she tugged at my arm.

"Ms. Roppolo, may I have a minute of your time?" I was surprised and touched. Everyone either called me "Deb" or "Debbie," not very many were that formal.

"Sure," I said.

She held out her hand, took mine, and shook it. "I just wanted to say what a pleasure it is to meet you and shake your hand."

I was extremely touched. "Oh no, hey. It's nice to meet you." I stammered. That was a wonderful ending to my magical day. I'll say it again, none of this would have been possible without God.

This weekend is San Marcos. I can't wait!