I'm sitting on My Sister's white carpet (yes, white) close to Seattle, Washington. My Sister is cleaning her already-clean kitchen. My brother-in-law is driving the lawn mower around outside, doing something nebulous. And here I sit, as unbothered by my lack of participation in their worthwhile activities as could be. The carpet feels nice.
I am here in Washington for a purpose, however. My Sister owns an LDS bookstore in the area and asked me to come up here for a book signing. Every six months, their book store hosts a girl's night out in conjunction with General Conference and I got to be a part of it this time.
Can I just say that My Sister is amazing? For the delectation of the attendees, she made a *huge* pot of chicken noodle soup, homemade bread rolls, and about a dozen other little nibbles. She gave out a lot of free prizes just for coming.
I had a sweet set up on a pair of leather couches with a display of my books on the coffee table. Lots of nice women came by, asking me about my book and when I started writing. I got behind the microphone for a minute to show them all what a scatterbrain I really am. I would have gladly changed places with my Other Sister who was manning (womanning?) the food table. And knowing my Other Sister, she probably wouldn't have minded too much. Am I right?
But for any of you that have ever seen me at a book signing, you'll probably know why I'd prefer to be womanning the food table. I do much better at that sort of thing. At least, I feel better doing that sort of thing.
Anyway, my industrious sister just told me that she wishes she were June Clever so she could work around the house every day in a skirt and beads (which is what she's wearing now as she mops the floor on her hands and knees.)
On that happy thought, I'll leave you to your own carpet sitting, or mopping, or driving lawn mowers.