I had a problem. I didn’t want to read the book I had ordered.

I’ve read all of Anne Lamott’s non-fiction books (except maybe one). When I learned of her upcoming new book Almost Everything, I immediately pre-ordered a Kindle download. I later discovered I could order a hardcover book signed by Anne Lamott for a few dollars more. I pre-ordered the signed hardcover and cancelled the Kindle order.

A month later Anne’s book came out, but I didn’t receive my hardcover copy for another six weeks. When I opened the book, I noticed an official-looking piece of paper inside the pages. The gold-embossed paper stated “Certificate of Authenticity,” an assurance Anne’s signature belonged to her and not an imposter Anne. Her signature on the title page seemed to emanate the vibes: “I’m getting tired of signing my name thousands of times so I’ll make my first name legible but give me a break on my last name. Here ya go.”

Although Anne Lamott is one of my favorite authors, I don’t always agree with her worldview. We may have the same goals—but I think she and I differ on how to reach them. However, she has a delightful style of writing when not alienating half of her readership with her political beliefs. I love reading her stories and thoughts on her life as a writer, mother, grandmother as well as her way of coping in an anxious world.

That said, I never owned a book that came with a Certificate of Authenticity. This makes the book kind of exciting and slightly important. What if I spill tea on her signed hard copy? Or drip hand lotion on it? What if my kitten chews its pages? I could refrain from the tea-drinking and hand lotion-slathering, but I couldn’t guarantee the kitten wouldn’t find the book a favorite new chew toy.

“Jerry, this book came with a Certificate of Authenticity and I don’t want to risk anything damaging it. I don’t want to read it. I need to keep it like new.”

In my husband’s wisdom of how to handle special books signed by famous authors, Jerry advised, “Call the library and ask them to order a copy. Then, read the library copy.”

That might work. But did I really want to wait until the library got around to getting the book ordered? Who knows how long that would take? And I certainly don’t want to pay the $10.99 to download the Kindle version when I have the book right here.

In light of my desire to not spend more money or wait on our library, I made the decision to take the chance and read my hard copy carefully. Maybe while wearing gloves?

No, that wouldn’t work. You can’t turn the pages easily with bulky, wool gloves. I could blow the pages apart. Oh, forget that.

With my bare hands, I cautiously opened the book a slight crack. I peered in and attempted to read while not bending the spine too much. Into the first chapter, I laughed uproariously –oh, I hope I didn’t spit on the pages while laughing –no, of course I didn’t …but the part where Anne has an urge to jump off buildings and bridges, ha, ha, …had me in stitches.

By page 64, I had continued to maintain the book’s pristine condition. On this page, I discovered what I already know but rarely think about. Anne states things so much better than I manage to think.

She writes: “Some of us periodically need to repeat the joy training, rehabilitate the part of us that naturally dims or gets injured by busyness, or just by too much bad news to bear. Adults rarely have the imagination or energy of children, but we do have one another, and nature, and old black-and-white movies, and the ultimate secret weapon, books. Books! To fling myself into a book, to be carried away to another world while being at my most grounded, on my butt or in my bed or favorite chair, is literally how I have survived being here at all.”

Her words remind me we have treasures in life that don’t need a Certificate of Authenticity. Yes, black-and-white movies, friendship, and regular, unsigned books…but also faith, love, birthday cakes (chocolate, of course), twinkling Christmas lights beneath a starry sky, and ohhh, the precious iPhone videos of out-of-state family members under the age of two.

I don’t need a certificate to know the smiles on the videos are authentic. And I don’t need one for a birthday cake stating: “This cake has genuine high-fat buttercream frosting with 420 calories per bite; ingredients contain small amounts of bona fide propylene glycol also used in acrylic paints and antifreeze.” Authenticity can be annoying and kill your appetite (and birthday).

Jerry just sauntered in, lugging his coffee cup the size of a bucket. He wants to engage in chit-chat about our kitten and her destructive ways. She has turned over several potted plants, knocked a flower vase over, and rearranged my Christmas village with miniature trees placed in scattered sideways positions. And as we expected, the Christmas tree lights looked too tasty to remain on the tree. Jerry mentions he has tried to keep her from chewing on the electrical cords, which she likes to do. She’s in a teething stage and wants to chew on everything.

Everything. Uh oh! Where’s my book?

βω♥

Anne Lamott