Happy Anniversary?

My husband’s first words to me this morning. I panicked. Did I forget our anniversary? Wait a minute. What month is this? July. We were married in December. What? I said. July 14^th, he answered. Oh. It clicked. Forty-eight years ago I arrived in Chile to pursue our relationship – cut short when his U.S. visa expired the previous October. Our courtship needed more time. Forty-eight years later….I’m still in this beautiful country and mother of two sons and grandmother of five.

    Enough time to have witnessed a socialist government, a military coup and dictatorship, the return to democracy, and recently, severe social unrest and… yes, Covid-19 quarantine.

    I still have moments of homesickness, ‘home’ meaning San Anselmo, the town where I grew up. Though I no longer have any family there, I miss the dark green curves of Mt. Tamalpais, the peace and fragrance of Phoenix Lake cupped in a fold of the mountain, the scent of redwood trees, the grassy dome of Mt. Baldy, those geographic landmarks of my early years to which I return yearly, except now in 2020 due to the pandemic.

    For years I struggled with the question: where is ‘home’ for me? I dealt with my struggles by writing two books: Marrying Santiago and Notes from the Bottom of the World.

    Now, after forty-eight years of memories and four months of quarantine, I know that ‘home’ is Santiago, Chile, where my family is – husband, sons, grandkids, nieces, nephews, sisters- and brother-in law. Because of them, this place is ‘home’ for me. Instead of Mt. Tamalpais, I have a view of the magnificent snow-covered Andes.

Ready or Not

It’s done. I’ve launched my baby, my decade of long, laborious hours, of multiple versions and wrenching rewrites. My memoir, Marrying Santiago. I still can’t avoid the sensation that the words “my memoir” sound pretentious. And now I’m not totally comfortable in this new role of promoting my book and putting myself out to the world. Heartening comments from those who have read the book – that they couldn’t put it down or that it caused them to laugh or cry – lift my self-confidence. When a day goes by with no input, the doubts march in. It’s not that well-written. Or that chapter is lack luster. I reread parts at random to reassure myself.

Early this morning I lived a vivid dream. I say “lived” because it was very real. I was there. In the small bookshop in my hometown, I’m talking to the owner (to whom I did send a copy) about the prospects of carrying my book. He was not encouraging, pointing out the reasons why. I realize that this is a real possibility that I must be prepared for. I will be back in my hometown in a couple days and will approach the bookshop owner. I am getting nervous, but, when I walk through his door, I’ll keep in mind the wonderful comments I’ve received. I must believe in my book.