dearest wish come true
12 November 1999

Today when I got to the bookstore there was a book in my mailbox. I thought maybe it was something that Bookstore Michael wanted me to borrow and read. I couldn't really puzzle it out until I stepped a few inches closer to see the spine.

:: Miss Wyoming ::

:: Douglas Coupland ::

:: Advance Reader's Edition ::

A "galley", as they say in the industry.

For me, it was like heroine.

I grasped it with both hands and literally ran into Michael's office to thank him. But he wasn't there. His day off. It would have to wait.

Instead I walked upstairs and ran into Katie. I told her about the book and she explained that she was actually supposed to give it to me the night before when we got together to see American Beauty but she forgot... and therefore she put it in my mailbox. I explained to her how happy the book made me. She told me that was just the least of it.

:: The least of it. ::

She said that Michael wanted to tell me the rest. But I was already off and running with questions? "Is he coming to the store? Is he coming to the Brookline store? Is he reading here?"

No answer. Just a smile.

Finally she said, "That's not all."

:: That's not all. ::

Then the words came fluttering out of her mouth and they were spiraled in these glittery hues that suddenly started to turn dark around the edges.

"Michael's giving you the day off. Jim is making the arrangements. You're going to spend the day hanging out with him."

:: hanging out with him ::

:: Douglas Coupland ::

:: omigod ::

What followed was a scene of squeals and zero balance, a squillion times worse than the infamous "play-doh" incident from last year's holiday swap. Katie made me promise to duplicate this intensity when Michael tells me the exact same news a few days from now.

I doubt it will be a stretch for me.

Already I'm trying to think of any number of words that I could possibly use to string together to form a coherent sentence in the presence of Douglas Coupland. None come to mind.

Life doesn't get this good just every day. It takes practice. And frustration. And time. And grace. And wading through an inordinate amount of disappointment. And even then it doesn't come close.

But yesterday mine did.

And it was perfection.

I've heightened this to its ultimate dramatic conclusion. I'm kind of numb. I feel dizzy. Giggles keep getting caught in my windpipe... choked back down by the rolling nausea in my stomach.

And just Tuesday I was speaking on the telephone with L.A. Michael and he interrupted me to say that I was exactly like a character in a Douglas Coupland novel. And I paused for a beat and said, "Yes, but I don't wear Capri pants."

But things can change.

What is your dearest wish come true?