In the last 48 hours, I’ve received three emails from people asking about books that were ordered more than 30 days ago. When I started digging into it, I found that – in short – I screwed up.
For 15+ years, I’ve been shipping out books, but my world has shifted. My once-meticulous record keeping has become a little sloppy. More than 50% of my personal possessions are in storage units, piled high atop each other. I’m living in a small rental home, and nothing is where it should be.
And there’s this: I still do a whole lot of sobbing. That really consumes a lot of time, and leaves me exhausted.
My humblest apologies if your book order was one of the 12+ that “fell between the cracks.”
Today, I spent more than two hours going through the orders, and trying to affirm which orders were lost and which orders were fulfilled. I think I’ve found all the missing orders and they went out in the morning mail.
If you haven’t received a book, please contact me as soon as possible and I’ll try to make this right.
And thanks for your patience.
You can reach me at email@example.com or better yet, please leave a comment below. I’m living on love these days.
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This morning at 7:00 am, I started reviewing records and making sure the right books went to the right people. I hope I got it right. If not, please let me know.
I had them all in one pile by the front door, but when I returned to the room, they'd apparently decided to play "trains." It does look like fun!
Apparently, about the time I was supposed to be shipping books, I was hanging out on Route 460 in Zuni, Virginia, watching trains go by. This Amtrak was moving at 70+ mph and I was amazed that this cell-phone photo came out as good as it did! This route has at least a dozen freight trains per day.
A random picture of two very cute donkeys.
And there's this. The same brain and personality type that can bury themselves in a research project for six years (Penniman), has trouble letting go of the "whys" here. Fourteen months later, and I still don't know what happened and what went wrong. The only thing I do know is this: In a thousand million different scenarios, this was always going to end with Wayne committing suicide. Just realizing that one horrible truth has brought me some peace. On his last night on earth, he asked me to make him his favorite dinner, and I did. (And I still can't see a recipe for "Chicken Hassleback" without sobbing.) Two nights before his death, I asked him to play "slap and tickle" and he bluntly refused. Three nights before his death, I asked him, "Wayne Ringer, what do YOU think that I think of you?" He smiled an odd smile and said, "You think I'm utterly wonderful." The good thing about being a writer - you spend a lot of time using your words to tell your husband how much you adore him. I don't doubt that I did a lot of things wrong, but I also know that I did many things right. (Photo is copyright 2007, David Chance, and can not be duplicated or reprinted without permission.)
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