I wasn’t lying

Really, I wasn’t. The Stuff of a Life HAS been published, and I am currently waiting for an order of books to show up here to be sold locally. But for some reason, it is not showing up on Amazon, so I’ve been putting off an announcement until I could tell people who don’t live here that they could purchase it. But…I was beginning to feel my credibility seeping away. I’m trying to figure out the problem, and when it’s available for order I’ll post something here.

In the meantime, for local folks, mark September 15 on your calendars. There will be a book launch in the Loft at the Algoma Conservatory of Music. The venue itself is worth the visit–and in addition to readings from my book, several other local authors will share their work. So…mark it down. September 15, 7-9. More details as the date approaches.

Meanwhile, here’s a little teaser from Chapter IV, Growing Up Quaker.

I am thirteen. I am sitting beside Jane in Meeting for Worship, which is an hour of silent worship after First Day School. When I was small, I had to sit with Mom and Dad, but for the last couple of years I can sit wherever I want.

I don’t go to meeting every week, and I don’t have to stay the whole time. I know I can quietly get up and leave whenever I want. Or I can read the book I have with me. The room is silent except for the muted sound of traffic on the street in front and the occasional throat-clearing of the adult worshippers. Mom and Dad are sitting in one of the facing benches at the front and Mom sometimes glances over at me. Some women come to meeting in slacks, and some come with their blouses sloppily tucked in their skirts. But Mom always gets a little dressed up. Not too much, because people here aren’t fancy. Only one woman ever wears a hat — the same one who wears purple dresses. Today Mom’s wearing a light green dress with buttons up the front. Dad, of course, is wearing a suit. He always wears a suit.

I am busily counting the slats on the Meeting Room ceiling when Jane pokes me in the side. You are not to whisper in Meeting, but she leans over and says, quiet as a breath in my ear, “I have to speak”.  

We know, of course, that people speak in meeting when they feel moved to do so by the still small voice of God that is in every man. And woman. We have been led to believe that when God wants to speak through you, you will know it is God and the urge to share his wisdom will be irresistible. That’s when the early Quakers quaked. I do not believe God is speaking to Jane. I am right beside her, and she seems quite her usual self. I shake my head at her: Don’t do it.

She starts to do a little quivery thing with her hands and feet. None of the bowed heads or pensive gazes into space seem to notice. All I want is to leave. I can already feel my face getting hot with embarrassment. I open my book and pretend to read.

Jane stands up. Her long blond hair brushes against her cheeks. Like her mother, she often looks dishevelled. Just last week, on our way home from Meeting, Mom said “Not that it matters, of course, but I don’t know where Sarah gets those clothes.” 

Everybody is looking at Jane now. Some people smile. She just stands there looking vaguely angelic. I stare straight ahead.

“God is Love” she says in a loud voice. Then she sits down. 

Some years later I watched the movie A Friendly Persuasion, in which a young Quaker boy in Meeting for Worship leaps to his feet and makes the same startling observation. 

It was too late to ask Jane where she saw the movie.