Wednesday night I got home around 8:30 to find Cory, my younger son, the one who usually is so buried in a book that he barely acknowledges my arrival home, standing by the door saying, "I need to make homemade chocolate chip cookies for school tomorrow and we have no butter." Well there went my plan to sit on the couch and eat some dinner, read and relax. In his defense, he had mentioned this and the lack of butter the evening before, but all three people who could hit the store blanked on remembering to get there.

I love to take pictures when I travel, and I am noted for shooting a lot of photos when I am on the road. What's interesting about my literary travel is that I rarely shoot an author photo or anything at book festivals and events. I bring back a hundred anecdotes, but rarely do I snap a picture. I had a friend who told me he never shot pictures of mountains, because they never looked as special when you got home and looked at them. The memory was dwarfed once you looked at it. I think these experiences are the same way for me. It's not about how the author looks, but rather about what they said. I find myself running their conversations like film in my head.

I could not have scripted a better week for a booklover! In the past 8 days I have clocked a couple of thousand frequent flyer miles crossing the country in a couple of directions and banked an amazing number of "talking to/listening to author" hours, which have been a real pleasure.