I was in the parking lot at Book Passage in Corte Madera early Wednesday
morning. I dropped my son off at school and was sitting in my car
waiting to go into a yoga class. As I ate my son’s toast crust, I could
see Mt. Tam in my rear view mirror, tall and beautiful.
Twelve hours earlier I had been in the same parking lot trying to
find a parking space. Every space was taken and there was a long line
for the complimentary valet. The lot at the DMV was full next door. I
could see people pouring in from neighboring streets. Eventually, with
the help of an older man directing me, I parked parallel beside a
dumpster.
People were flooding in– like sticks bouncing along a gentle
stream. They were already smiling and David Sedaris hadn’t even begun
to speak.
David Sedaris was going to read from his new book Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls at Book Passage at 7 PM. We parted seas and came, hundreds of us, from school, from work, from home.
I’d heard David Sedaris read his work once before at Berkeley
Rep. I was in the front row and was surprised at what a small man he was
– his insights and humor were so big.
I decided that he was the kid who figured out how to spray paint the
walls with, “I WAS HERE!” But instead, he added, “I was here and this
is what I saw…. This is what I noticed….” And because he was quirky and
bright and honest and very, very funny, we stopped and noticed too–
absurdities, contradictions and moments of humanness.
Inside the store, we made conversation with each other while we
waited for the reading to begin. When you’re body to body with
strangers it seems polite to introduce yourself. Where are you from?
What book of his is your favorite? What do you think is a good book to
read?
Every seat was taken. A few children sat on parent’s laps. I was in
the standing room only section that spilled into every aisle and poured
out through the main door. We buzzed, the room buzzed, the store staff
buzzed.
Hundreds of people hugged their new book anticipating his stories,
eager to get his signature. There were over 500 people there.
Kelly Corrigan who wrote Lift and The Middle Place was
the perfect warm up band, getting the crowd laughing and ready with an
introduction. After listing David Sedaris’s stunning accomplishments,
Kelly said, “And now, I’d like to introduce to you two-time college drop
out, David Sedaris.” We cheered.
And David who was sweet waved to us, smiled and then began reading.
Of course he delivered, weaving stories about feeding a kookaburra that
took us forward and back in time in a way that rocked us with laughter.
We might as well have been swaying to the music.
David Sedaris reads during his event at Book Passage on May 21, 2013. |
He gave us stories and quotes about life. As an audience, we were
connected with quiet sounds of recognition, with big laughs we shared
and in sighs we felt. For such a little man wearing a bow tie and a
funny jacket he told us he got in LA the other day, he had very, very
long arms. What I mean by this is that he held all of us– captive,
laughing, standing, body to body. And in his arms, we let go of our
worries for an hour and enjoyed his storytelling. In some odd way, we
saw ourselves in his life and he mirrored back to us the same. As a
result, I think we each felt a little taller and a little more
beautiful.
When I left, people were still in line. And David was still talking
to each person who handed him a book. I watched people as they left the
store. As they strolled to their cars, there was an ease to
conversation, a gentleness to the walk, a surrender to this crazy thing
we call life. And everyone looked softer. Maybe it was because the
lighting was dim and gentle, but I don’t think so. I think it was
because when that little man with the bow tie finished reading, finished
taking questions, he said, “I am happy to sign your book and I’ll stay
here as long as it takes. If I’m here after midnight, it’s fine with
me.” With those words, his “I was here and I notice and I see,” was
expanded. The writing he wrote on the wall said, “I was here and I
notice and I see you.” For such a funny guy, his last line felt like a
prayer.
This blog appears courtesy of Kathleen Buckstaff. It originally appeared on her blog at www.kathleenbuckstaff.com. Kathleen is the author of The Tiffany Box: A Memoir.