Yesterday was one for our memory books—Remember the Sweet Things appeared on shelves for the first time. I picked up my granddaughters from school as usual, and we cruised the book stores here in San Jose. We made a big production of going to the service desk to ask for my book and be guided to it by a clerk. Without identifying ourselves, of course—that would have mortified ten-year-old Lily. Eight-year-old Anna was itching to say something, I could tell. She was surprised to see her mother at our last stop, standing in front of the “New Non-fiction” table. And she grinned from ear to ear, as did I, when Jennifer spotted us, grabbed a copy of the book, held it up opened to my photo, and shouted, “Hey wait! Aren’t you Ellen Greene, the author of this book?”
Poor Lily. I hope she can forgive us.