Ten years ago today (my, time flies), I was in Washington DC for the RWA conference.  It was the first and only time I’d been to Washington, and I was having a marvelous time.

Nancy the Cat Slayer had come along just for the heck of it, and I was meeting up with Anne Gracie for the first time.  It was also the first time I met Jane Porter, and it was the last time I got to see Grace Green before she retired from writing.

I had  two books (count ‘em!) up for the RITA in the short contemporary category — the Desire, The Stardust Cowboy, and the Presents, Gibson’s Girl. It was a pretty amazing time.

The day the RITAs were being announced, my husband rang me from home to say that something more momentous was about to happy — our daughter, who was expecting a baby in late August, had jumped the gun.  Or the baby had.  It was on its way.

“Call her,” he said.  “She’s already at the hospital.”

So I called. Cool, calm and collected me. I called and they said she wasn’t there.

What????  Not there?

Had they mislaid her?  Good grief!  This was not a large town. There was only one hospital in this particular place in Kansas.  Still is.  I paced and I fumed and I called my husband back and said, “Are you sure?”

And he said, “Yes, I’m sure. Call again.”

I stopped and thought before I called — and then I realized that they hadn’t mislaid her, I’d forgotten her name!

She goes by her middle name — which I’d used.  And she is married, using her married name, which I forgot.  So I asked for her by her middle name and her maiden name — neither of which was on the hospital record.  Sigh.

I called back. Indeed, she was there.  In labor, quite busy. I only talked to her for a moment.  “I’ll call you,” she promised.  “After.”

I went to the RITAs in a daze.  Amazingly, The Stardust Cowboy, won.

As thrilled as I was, it was only the second most wonderful thing that happened that day.

An hour and a half later, Stephanie Alyce was born.

She was the best.  Pretty much still is.

We called her Glowbaby because she was jaundiced and got to wear a cool suit that glowed.  She looked like a caterpillar about to come out of a cocoon when she was wrapped in it.

Now, occasionally, I still call her Glowkid.  It’s still true — most of the time, she just glows.

Today she’s off to see Joseph and His Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat with her mom, her other grandma and one of her aunts.  I’m off to San Francisco for a wedding.

There is another RITA finalist this year, but I’ll be at the wedding celebrating so I won’t know if One Night Mistress…Convenient Wife won or not.  No doubt someone will tell me one way or the other.  I’ll cross my fingers for it, but there are lots of wonderful books up for the RITA.  If it wins, I’ll be thrilled.

But no more thrilled than ten years ago when The Stardust Cowboy won — and Glowkid made her first appearance.

Happy birthday, Steph!

My mother passed away yesterday afternoon. after a long (ninety years) and well-spent life.

She would not expect to be celebrated here. She was a quiet woman, never given to excess, something of a worrier (well, world-class, really), unassuming, gentle.  She was a good and doting mother, a superlative daughter, a fond if somewhat baffled grandmother (where did all these boys come from?) and great-grandmother (more boys? Six of them? For goodness’s sake!), a devoted aunt, a long-suffering sister and a kind and caring friend.

Life didn’t always seem fair to her and, indeed, there were trials and tribulations in hers that she certainly never deserved. But she endured, and whatever happened, she kept going. Sometimes she fretted. Sometimes in private she muttered.  But she was unfailingly polite and gracious to the world at large. 

Few people knew her well. Even I didn’t feel as if I always knew what made her tick.  She was a private person. A constant person. She had Expectations. 

She didn’t have to tell us. We knew.

And we tried to live up to them (well, except for providing her with more granddaughters and great-granddaughters. But at least she got one of the first and two of the second.  And despite her bafflement, she did love those boys. She just never understood them.).

But she was quietly proud of them all, and of all the family accomplishments.  One of the last things I did on Sunday was read her an article in the local newspaper celebrating our oldest son’s baseball career.  I don’t know if she heard me, but I think she knew.

She had a good ninety years. Undoubtedly, in her estimation, they could have been better. But better, I believe, was reserved for the life she began yesterday. I’m sure she was welcomed with open arms by the family waiting for her, and the joy she had been waiting and hoping for was finally at hand.

I loved her. I’ll miss her.  I’ll always carry her in my heart.