“Push, where are you? Are you in Detroit?”
“No, but I’m headed that way now. What’s up?”
“There’s a house party out in West Bloomfield and you’re invited! There’s going to be a table full of hot, gorgeous women and you’re our special guest!” I laughed. It was 3:14pm, Arizona time, and there was no way I could possibly make the party.
“What time does it end?”
“It starts at 7pm and ends around midnight.”
“Well, I’m boarding the plane right now,” I said, looking for seat 10D. I slid into the row quickly as impatient passengers pushed and shoved their way to appointed seats.
“Hold on, Patti.” A middle-aged white couple made their way through the busy aisle-way into the narrow row with me.
“Are you both sitting here?” I stood up to let them in.
“Yes, but I think you have the window seat.”
“Oh, ok!” I slid back into the small row and sat down to finish the discussion with Patti. I met her about two weeks ago at a cabaret in Dearborn, Michigan. She had good conversation, a pretty face, down-to-earth attitude, and laughed at all my jokes. That night, after plenty glasses of Zinfandel, shots of tequila, and a few failed attempts at ballrooming (we both were too drunk to stand still), Patti invited me to her family’s Christmas Day dinner. I accepted the offer, gave her my card, and told her to call me. I really wasn’t sure whether I would be able to keep the dinner date because I’d made plans to be in Arizona, California, and Michigan….simultaneously. But, if Patti called me with a convincing reason why I should attend her event, then so be it. But, I certainly would’ve loved to attend the West Bloomfield party if only she’d told me in advance.
“I wanted to call you, and I’ve been trying. My dog chewed up your card. I had to call three people just to get your number.
“M hmm.” Patti laughed.
“Seriously, Push! And I really want you to come to the party. I wanted you at the Christmas party but I couldn’t find your number.”
“M hmm. Well, I’ll be in Grand Rapids around 9 tonight.”
“Awww, by the time you get to West Bloomfield it’ll be too late. It’s a two hour drive from Grand Rapids to Detroit.”
“yeah, I know. Well, perhaps I can catch another party?”
“Yes! There’ll be parties going on straight through New Years. There’s a party tomorrow also.”
“Ok! I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Ok, honey.”
********************
Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. I’m going to ask that you keep your seatbelts fastened just a little bit longer as we may experience some turbulence. We’re at 31,000 feet right now and we may move to 33,000 feet. We are 1,282 miles from Grand Rapids and I’ll keep you posted on the weather conditions and our earliest time of arrival at Grand Rapids airport.
********************
“I want two Cabernets, please.” (The flight attendant reminded me of Michelle Pfeiffer.) She handed me two small bottles of Sutter Home Cabernet Sauvignon, California 2008. I needed to get my head straight. My flask was empty and stored away in the overhead compartment. Sutter Home would calm my nerves and relieve my flight anxiety.
The aged couple seating next to me are Lutheran, married for 23 years, two children, and she teaches fifth grade at a Lutheran school in Grand Haven, just West of East Lansing. The woman has a copy of Ron hall and Denver Moore book, What Difference Do It Make?: Stories of Hope and Healing. She encouraged me to read it. We do more small talk, book talk, and momentarily discuss my new book, Denicio Barbier, and my first novel.
“I think I was going through a mid-life crisis. I bought a fast car, got a 20 year old girlfriend, and went on a road-trip.” Her husband laughed. She looked worried.
“I’m joking, ma’am.” She opened her book to page 34 and continued to read.
“I’m actually deciding on whether to read or drink.” They both laugh. I rustled through my book book-bag and pull out Nietzsche’s Beyond Good and Evil, and Brenda Humphrey Meisel’s Family at Booknook. Given my current situation of sitting next to
a Christian couple, suspended in mid-air, 31,000 feet off the ground, with no parachute, I put Nietzsche away, and said to the Lutheran church-lady, “although I’m not a believer, I actually like flying with godly people because if god saves the plane for you he has to save it for me too. I’ll get saved by chance of seating next to you.” She reluctantly chuckled at the arrogance of such a brave remark, but she never spoke to me again for the duration of the flight.
I was down to the last two chapters of Meisel’s book and I really wanted to finish it before we reached snowy, cold Grand Rapids. I ordered two more Cabernet’s and finished Meisel’s nascent book. Family at Booknook proved to be a swell read, and actually reinvigorated my waning interest in self-published novels. I met Meisel at about a month ago at an Ann Arbor Barnes & Noble during a “National Author’s Day” book signing. She and author/friend, Margaret Fuchs Singer shared a table which sat less than fifteen feet away from my table, and we were immediately attracted to each others display. After the signing we walked to our cars and shared book talk and wished each other well in our literary endeavors. We traded books (customary of authors) and she asked me to review her book. Meisel’s characters are believable and their stories engage us because we can visualize their experiences. Meisel is a promising novelist and Family at Booknook is a dynamic read. I especially appreciated Meisel’s penchant for detail:
There was no indoor toilet and only a makeshift shower in the basement, a primitive wooden platform built over a drain in the dirt floor, with a hose attached to a showerhead. Four rooms comprised the house: kitchen, living room and two bedrooms. During the winter, the house seemed to hibernate. Lastic covered the windows, and bales of straw huddled against the foundation. In summer, it came to life. Birds clustered at feeders that hung precariously from the sunken porch roof; zinnias hugging the foundation added a bit of color to the landscape. To the east of the house, marigolds surrounded a lush vegetable garden. Next to the garden was a clothesline composed of two poles and a wire, where on windy days sheets waved at passing cars.
Family at Booknook is a beautifully written book. It is the story of a grieving widow, a young mother and her daughter, Finch, who, over a span of two decades, helps the family to deal with the real life dilemmas of motherhood, loss, and redemption. This is a story of hope and determination.. It is difficult but necessary for me to not give away too much of this wonderfully written book but I will note that Meisel’s poignant novel is finely crafted, richly layer, and meticulously written, and, therefore, should certainly find a place among the best written novels of the year. Her story-telling ability is pleasant, with a style as graceful as Capote’s Summer’s Crossing. She handles nostalgic moments with historical accuracy, deals with real family relationships with vivid imagination and prescient insight. This book comes highly recommended.
Push scale: 5/5
what about the kennedys 
Push, I just read your review of my novel, Family at Booknook. You made my day. What a gift for words. Thanks. I hope you’ve overcome your flight anxiety.
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