As many of you know, I had a book signing yesterday. Few people wandered into the bookstore, and even fewer bought my book. And as I sat there brooding, a woman happened by my table. Her name is Mary Wilson. Mary was born without arms.
We struck up a conversation, and I found her to be a fascinating person. She drives, knits beautifully (her husband, Dennis, showed me pictures of her handiwork), and has a delightful sense of humor. But what I found most intriguing is that she's the subject of a book entitled A Toehold on Life. . . which, from what I was told by the store manager, Mary helped write.
When the couple left, I felt ashamed for sulking over the poor turnout because I truly got the sense that Mary rarely sulked over anything in life. And Lord knows, if anyone has a right to sulk. . .
Anyway, forget about 1225 Mistletoe Lane for Christmas this year. Instead, ask Santa to bring you a copy of A Toehold on Life. I know I am.
Lenny