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Couldn't Find My Car

Hey, Friend.

Psst! Did you get an email from me yesterday? If you didn't, it might be because it was sent from a new email address: and so it could have landed in Spam. If you want to make sure not to miss any letters, please add that address to your safe senders list. 

Now onto the letter: 

My first ever due date was in early December. That baby was never born, but a book was. [read on for a story on how I am lost everywhere constantly]. 

Some of you have read the book, and loved it.

Some of you had no idea I wrote a book until just now. 

I often hear from folks who get this newsletter that they love it because it's not really a newsletter at all. It's really a… letter. 

My book is a lot like that. So, if you like my writing, and also like travel, and good stories and black humour, you'll enjoy it. 

I am feeling like sending out some snail mail this week, so in the next THREE days you can buy a copy of my book and I will write you a handwritten card. Tis' the season and all that. 

Here's today's story (one more coming your way tomorrow):

A colleague, a fellow professor at a community college, told me once that she'd read somewhere that people with exceptional verbal skills are often severely impaired at spatial skills. She was referring to herself. She taught English, and her command of language was superb. 

I didn't tell her. 

I didn't tell her that sometimes in the gym locker room, I have absolutely no recollection of where my stuff is, and so I wait for the room to get empty, and then start at the corner locker, opening and closing doors. Quietly, trying not to attract too much attention. 001, 002, 003. Nope, nope, nope. I move through the rows, slowly, methodically, at the same time wondering if there will be a day when I open the correct locker, but won't be able to recognize the contents as mine. 

I didn't tell her how once I walked the same block three times, trying to figure out which way I came from - all the while, my car was parked about two hundred feet away.

I got lost on my way home from the gym once after making that drive three times a week for a year and a half. I found myself on the side of the road with the emergency lights flashing - straight, right, left - directions no longer made sense. 

I dialed a familiar number.

“I don't know where I am”, I say meekly.

He is somewhat used to getting these calls from me.

He sounds tired. He is already in bed. 

“Isn't your GPS working?”

I pull the phone from my ear, and stare at the little screen - my current location blinking on a map.“

It is working”, I sigh. “It's just… not helping, you know?”

It is like trying to follow a recipe, when you are delirious with hunger.

I feel panicky and completely helpless.

I send him my exact coordinates over the phone.

“Can you tell me where to go?” 

Instead, I hear shuffling on the other end of the phone. 

“What are you doing?”

“I'm coming to get you.”

“Um. Do you want me to start driving towards you?” 


“NO!”. Now he panics.

“Stay where you are!”


My offer is strictly symbolic. It's not like I would know which way to start driving anyway. This is funny on some level, so I try to smile. My lips feel stiff. 


I stay in the car and examine the cars passing by.

In both directions. 


Is that him?



Is that him?



About twenty minutes later a familiar white truck pulls up. The door opens, and a few moments later, my husband is tapping on my window. I roll it down. 


“Hi, dumdum”, he sighs. I reach up to hug him. 


I drive home directly behind him, like a lost baby elephant, holding his mother's tail in my trunk, and covering my head in shame with my big leafy ears.


“Where did you say I was?”

“Are you sure?”

“How did I get there?”


Want to buy the physical copy of the book and get a handwritten note from me? 

Here's the link.

I am sending out NINE free copies and counting - to women who had a miscarriage recently. Don't want the book or have it, but want to cover shipping for someone else? You can Paypal me any amount here, and I'll send you a Christmas card as a thank you. 


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