my river a finalist as the PA River of the Year

Well, no.  Yet again I can't refer to a river as my one and very own.  But I have loved the Schuylkill River for a long time now.  I have written about her, both in a book called Flow and in a recent Inquirer story.  So when I saw Joe Syrnick, Schuylkill Banks CEO, on the news just now at the gym, I had to smile.  He was talking about her.

The Schuylkill, Joe was saying, is a finalist in the 2013 Pennsylvania River of the Year contest. 

You can vote to turn her into a winner.  I hope you do.

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humbled, and grateful.

For reasons too complex, too personal to render fully here, yesterday was a day of deep emotion.

There were, however, friends all along the way.  Elizabeth Mosier, the beauty in the dark gray dress, will always stand, in my mind, on either side of the day—at its beginnings, at its very late-night end.  For your mid-day phone kindness, for your breathtaking introduction of me at last night's book launch, for the night on the town, for the talk in the car, for the bounty of your family—Libby, I will always be so grateful. 

To Patti Mallet and her friend, Anne, who drove all the way from Ohio to be part of last night's celebration, I will never forget your gesture of great kindness, your love for green things at Chanticleer, and a certain prayer beside my mother's stone.  Patti and I are there, above, at the pond which inspired two of my books.

To Pam Sedor, the lovely blonde in violet, a world-class Dragon Boat rower recently returned from an international competition in Hong Kong, the librarian who makes books happen and dreams come true, and to Molly, who puts up with my techno anxieties (and who, recently married, has a new last name), and to Radnor Memorial Library, for being my true home—thank you, always.  (And to Children's Book World, for finding us books in time.)

To my friends who came (from church, from books, from architecture, from corporate life, from the early years through now)—thank you.  Among you were Avery Rome, the beautiful red-head who edits Libby, me, and others at the Philadelphia Inquirer, and Kathy Barham, my brilliant and wholly whole son's high school English teacher, who is also a poet (shown here in green).  To the town of Wayne, which received our open-air tears and laughter late into the night (and to Cyndi, Kelly, Libby, Avery, and Kathye who cried and laughed with me)—thank you.

And also, finally, to Heather Mussari—my muse (along with Tamra Tuller) for the Berlin novel, a young lady so wise beyond her years, and a cool, cool chick who (along with Sandy) does my hair—I arrived at 11:15 at your shop inconsolable.  You listened.  You said all the right things by telling the truth and telling it kindly.  I adore you, Heather.  I hope you know that.

After I posted this, my dear friend Kate Walton (who was there with our friend Elisa Ludwig), sent me this link to last night's party.  Kate—whose kindness is so clear in her post—preserved the night for me in photographs.  I will always be grateful.

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