Fourteen years ago today...

...we adopted Annabelle! Last night  I found myself remembering where I was on that night 14 years ago. In Hunan China. In a hotel with 10 other families, all of us waiting for morning when a bus would pull up and we would climb in and go to a government building and get our babies. How did I even sleep that night? I remember looking at the crib in the hotel room, empty, as if waiting for a baby to fill it. I remember arranging stuffed animals in it, folding and refolding the baby blanket knit together square by square by loving friends. I remember laying out the baby clothes, the diapers and bottles, the tiny shoes. We are spicy food with bad Great Wall if China wine. How did I even sleep that night?

Most of the people I loved supported the decision to add to our family after Grace died. But a very few worried it wasn’t the right thing to do. Me? I knew in my bones that it was exactly right, and I never once thought otherwise. This morning I realized that Grace had been dead almost exactly three years when we boarded that plane to Beijing, and the pain of losing her was still searing hot and ever present. But suddenly something else was moving in: joy.

At 10:00 the bus arrived and in no time we were being rushed into a room in that government building. Orphanage workers with babies ran down the corridor outside the room and before our guide closed the door I saw Annabelle, scared and confused, race past. If they hadn’t called us to come out I might have run after her. In no time our name was called and Annabelle was in our arms. I knew immediately that I would kill for her if I had to. The love I felt was that instantaneous. She was mine.

Somehow fourteen years have passed. Unbelievably, that baby in the purple footy pajamas is a freshman in high school, fluent in French, voracious reader, math whiz, card shark, loyal friend, fierce defender of what is right, hardworking student, musical theatre lover, loyal sister, teasing companion to my husband, cat owner, purple haired, curious traveler, my sidekick in all things, my daughter. My love and gratitude for her and for the mystery of this glorious mess called life knows no bounds. 

Spring!

I’m wearing my sandals! I don’t care if it’s only 40 degrees, I see sunshine and feel air tinged with warmth rather than chill. Last summer in Greece I noticed women wearing white Birkenstock’s and I fell in love with the look. As soon as I got back to NYC, I got a pair and wore them until my toes got numb. I’m so happy to have them on again.

More important news to share than my footwear is that I’ve started a new book project that has me dizzy with excitement: a memoir about my years as a flight attendant! No COFFEE, TEA OR ME (though I did reread that as research last week), it will not only share my own dreams and experiences but also cast a light on the evolution of the job and aviation. Tuesday I had lunch with one of my favorite people, Kate, a TWA flight attendant (hostess) in the late 1940s, and loved listening to her stories of flying. I’ve got a summer of visiting friends, searching archives, reading up on the topic—all so exciting I’m walking on air! 🤣

I’m also preparing for a lot of travel through spring and into summer, from teaching in Iceland to a romantic getaway in Portugal, a week in California driving down that gorgeous coast, a week in Truro with Annabelle, and then at the end of summer a month in Ireland and France and Italy with my wonderful husband and kids. The travel is a good mixture of teaching and just plain old fun. If you have the travel bug yourself, check out the writing workshop in Dingle Ireland where I’m teaching and my own Spannocchia Writers Workshop. It would be fun to see you there!

Speaking of where I’m teaching, if you’ve dreamed of someday writing that novel or memoir, and want to make that dream come true, I hope you’ll consider applying to the low residency MFA program I founded. It’s kind of a dream of mine to have built The Newport MFA, where students come to campus for a week in June and January for workshops, craft talks, readings, and time with our community of writers; the rest of the time is spent working one on one virtually with a faculty mentor. So you can write your book without disrupting your life! I’d love to have you join us if you’re ready!

I have been knitting like crazy. Have you? That usually signals not just the need for a new hat or a baby gift but something more going on for me emotionally. So no coincidence that my mom’s house goes on the market today after being in my family for over a hundred years. I cannot go there and see it empty. For some, that would be a necessary step in the grief process. But it would slay me. At night I find myself closing my eyes and touching things in the house: the stamps kept under the ashtray, the coffee mugs on a metal tree, the extra pillow behind the family room door should the need for a nap strike. I want to keep everything in its place in my mind, reminding me once again that grief is personal. There’s no rule book. No right way. We each find our own messy path through it. Be kind to yourself if you’re grieving, and gentle with others in grief.

So a ZickZack scarf, a skirt, a baby hat—all flying off my needles.

Please please read Barbara Trapido. I’ve just discovered her and am in love!

Now to pack for our late night flight to San Juan to visit Sam, whose theatre company What Will the Neighbors Say is in residency developing a play. In our future is a trip to the interior for roasted pork, a pool party, a lunch in Old San Juan, a hotel with an infinity food, and lots of time with each other. So precious, this.