Upon arriving home one afternoon, I noticed a UPS tag on my front door telling me of a package at the apartment complex office. I hadn’t ordered anything and it wasn’t my birthday so why was I receiving a package?
At the apartment offices, the receptionist rifled through a few dozen boxes and packages of all sizes, looking, looking. She asked me if I knew the size of the item. No, I had no idea. Finally, she discovered a small, book-sized package with my name on it. A book? A book! Someone had sent me a book??! But who? And why?
I consider books to be treasures and books given as gifts hold even more meaning. I tried to look and act nonchalant as I walked out the door with my package. Through my front door five minutes later and I had the brown wrapping torn off.
I read the cover: Naked, Drunk, and Writing: Shed Your Inhibitions and Craft a Compelling Memoir or Personal Essay by Adair Lara. I’d never heard of the book or the author. Who had sent this to me? Who would have thought this book was just what I needed, just at that time? Well, no, not the "Naked, Drunk..." part!
A shipping confirmation fell out of the crumpled brown wrapping. Two lines of extremely small print, a note from my brother: “I’ve enjoyed Adair Lara’s columns in the SF Chronicle. Thought this book of hers is one you’d like. Love, Warren.”
Silly as it may sound, I clasped the book to my chest feeling as delighted as a child on Christmas morning.
