San Antonio, Texas librarians, Kind bloggers, Justina Chen, Chronicle Books: all here

If it weren't for Tamra Tuller, there would be no Small Damages, nor would there be the Berlin novel, Going Over. If it weren't for Chronicle Books, I would not have just spent an enriching two days in San Antonio, a city I have longed to see, among Texas librarians, who (rumor has it, and so it seemed to me) are among the very best in all the land.

Were it not for Susan Schilling, I would not have joined Dana Reinhardt, Andrew Smith, Nina LaCour, and Blake Nelson on the footwear spectacular TAYSHAS panel.

Were it not for the Texas Tea, I would have not finally met Justina Chen in person.

Were it not for a certain signing, I would not have found my best elementary school friend standing at the start of a line, waiting for me. Oh, my!!!

Were it not for a Chronicle dinner, I'd not have chilled with talented authors/illustrators K.A. Holt, Jeff Mack, Lizi Boyd, and Molly Idle; guests Renee Sanders, Debbie McComb, Sherri Bell, Ty Burns, Sheila Acosta, and Lynn Butler; and Chronicle stars Tamra Tuller, Sally Kim, Stephanie Wong, Anna-Lisa Sandstrum, and Jaime Wong.

Were it not for San Antonio itself, I would have never seen the Alamo, walked along the river, found my way to a secret cove, or peered into the wax museum.

We owe so much of our happiness to other people and well-loved places.

I am home. I am grateful.

I am grateful, too, to the incredible bloggers who kept the Going Over blog tour alive in my absence. And so, a few days late, I wish to thank:

ForeverYoungAdult, for asking me great graffiti questions, for posting such a beautiful review of the book, and for Tweeting out while I was airplane bound. That's all here.

KidLitFrenzy, for asking fantastic questions about the Going Over research process—and about my favorite indie bookstores. That's here.

Tales of a Ravenous Reader, for letting me talk about truth. That's here.

Like all the bloggers on the Going Over tour, these offer a chance to win a signed book and the audio book, among other things

Lots of gratitudes today.

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Not San Antonio

This is what I had: New shoes and a turquoise dress. My head filled with the fine craftsmanship of my fellow would-be ALAN panelists. My camera, for I've always wanted to see San Antonio. Two books for the plane. A bag of M&Ms.

This is what happened: The computers aren't working well at the A 12 terminal of the Philadelphia airport—Boston flight posted on the San Antonio screen, those in charge scratching their heads and asking each other the sort of questions we passengers had hoped to ask them. An inconvenience, only.

Up next, though, the plane I am to take is three-quarters boarded when somebody mentions a Whoops. Whoops as in, Um. We're sorry. This plane isn't actually headed southwest. It's headed for New York.

(The woman in charge running across the tarmac, gathering the passengers who must now gather their bags, saying, I'm sorry. We got that wrong.)

Afterward, another whoops. Whoops as in, Your plane—the one that is actually headed southwest—is in maintenance. We don't know what's wrong. We don't know when it will be fixed. Give us an hour. Whoops as in another hour goes by, and now the terminal printers don't work and the sign still reads: Boston 9:50, even though by now it's 11 o'clock and all we want to do is head southwest. And now the word goes out that Maintenance is still having trouble with the would-be (ersatz?) plane and they don't know when they'll get it fixed.

There were five us headed for San Antonio. One by one we began to peel off. Too much of this didn't feel right for any of it to be right. That was the decision we singularly made.

This is how it went. This is why I am home and not in San Antonio, at the ALAN conference, where I had looked so forward to being.

This is what I thought as I drove home from the airport, where I'd spent the past five hours: I love my husband. I love my son. I love my father and family. I love my tiny house. I love my friends and the books on my shelf.

I love this life.

I'm very disappointed that I'm not in San Antonio. But I'm still here, alive to the cold brisk air. With a pair of new shoes I may someday have a place to wear.

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