martinimade

Stories of Austin will leak out over the next couple of days. Right now, however, linear thought is more challenging than usual. It's sad that a mere four days of running around and waiting around can wear a body out so much but there it is. I keep staring off into space trying to remember what I was about to do.

Part of that is because we got the Diva's biopsy results and, yes, she does have Celiac. And now we have to start overhauling her diet, which is completely doable but requires the use of my brain. My brain doesn't want to play along. In fact, it is actively rejecting the notion of playing along and is still very, very sad that she'll never get to know the wonders of good French bread or flaky pie crust. While I am in mourning, she couldn't care less and has been explaining to her grandma that there are foods "that make her tummy angry."

I love that kid.

So while I try to figure out what to do next, other than stare, two book-related things:

A wonderful review from the Hartford (CT) Courant. There is a trend developing here: the further away you get from the Applachians the less reviewers understand the book. It's a hypothesis.

Also, in October, I will be a guest at the Southern Festival of Books, where I intend to stalk Garrison Keillor, John T. Edge and Ann Shayne.

The Austin American-Statesman's Jeff Salamon wrote about The Book and my upcoming trip today.

Speaking of, doing the last minute rushing about like a headless fowl trying to get my ducks in a row and my birds in a bush. Freaking out a bit about whether or not the Saturn will make it to the Albany airport and which of my many flights will be delayed and if I will be able to drive in Austing traffic. I've grown into a dedcent traveler but this trip is freaking me out for some reason. Weird.

More from the Music Capital if all goes well...

We are back from the Bing. Biopsy went well as could be expected. Versed, which is one of the drugs used to sedate the Diva has a funky side effect that makes kids sob helplessly for about a half-hour as they're coming out of it. The crying does a fine job of wrenching a mom's heart out of her chest as well, as does the sad little "Mommy" we heard as she was going under.

She has no memory of any of this, however. For her, the worst part was getting the IV in and not being allowed to eat this morning.

All are well, however, and the Diva is pretty spritely.

We'll have results in a week.

While we all regroup, two reviews. One from Elle that I mentioned before and one from the Lexington Herald-Leader that I didn't mention before. Also, there's a decent review in the Aug./Sept. Bust, which is on eof my favorite magazines ever.

Also for your reading enjoyment, a slate piece about building your own bocce court, which I've long sworn would have been perfect for our long, skinny backyard in Knoxville.

The San Francisco Chronicle's Sheerly Avni would like you to know that I am no Augusten Burroughs. Nor am I Jeanette Walls or Andrew Solomon. Nor am I funny or inspiring.

For a variety of reasons, I don't really take issue with it, save for one thing: Avni has been in this game long enough to know that the one thing that should be triple-checked is the spelling of names. My Madeline only has two "e"s, not three.

Carry on.