First off, apologies to those of you who wait on tenterhooks for the next installment of the  saga of the mystery letters. As one exasperated reader has pointed out, it is wrong of us to entice you with the first part of a story and then wait so long to share the conclusion. Truly, you deserve better. We will remedy this oversight tomorrow (unless we forget).

For now, however, let us turn back the clock to last Friday night, around 5:00pm, when Robbi wandered by the kitchen counter and grazed for supper, sampling the kids’ leftover macaroni and the 5 pound tub of raw honey.

Perhaps it was not the most delicious or fulfilling meal, but her mood improved appreciably when she was done. Which was fortunate, for moments later, we drove through the rain to the Book Plate, where we were to give a talk of sorts that evening.

The first thing we noticed when we walked through the door was Tom’s brand-new book display, adorned with all of our past broadsides, various copies of Ten Thousand Stories, and the Bobbledy Books collection.

It was enough to make Robbi smile. Usually I have to juggle or make outrageous claims to accomplish as much.

Various folks were milling about when we arrived. One woman, desperate for a Christmas gift, attempted to trade her baby for a copy of Ten Thousand Stories.

Apparently, she had no idea that we are currently overstocked in that department.

In spite of having many children, we are currently undermanned on the babysitting front, and so the kids came with us. They were, or so it seemed, an army of them. They were everywhere. Whether tumbling down the front steps…

…or emerging unannounced from the podium.

At least one of our children was at least approximately well-behaved. Though she did not fuss and thrash about, Alden refused to listen to our wisdom, preferring to sit quietly and read a book written by someone else.

Eventually it came time to talk. And so we did. The occasion was the “official” Chestertown release of the Chronicle version of Ten Thousand Stories, and so we decided to tell the story of our journey from our first public reading, which happened to be almost exactly seven years prior, also at Book Plate. It was at that event in December of 2006 that we first unveiled our homespun version of Ten Thousand Stories. And so we did our best to touch on the various milestones along that road from two kids in their early thirties making books on a lark until they ran out of money to two reluctant adults with three children somehow publishing a book with Chronicle.

It was a story of luck, a story of persistence, and a story of truly odd twists.

Such as The Super Hero Squad Flips Out.

We’re still scratching our heads about how that happened.

Though the night was cold and wet, a few brave souls came out to hear us. Including the gentleman on the left, who flew in from London that morning. We’d like to say his entire reason for crossing the Atlantic was to hear us blather, but apparently, the blather was just icing. Apparently, he had come to visit the gentleman on the right, our friend Don.

As was the case seven years prior, Tom, our friend and Book Plate proprietor, got us a cake.

At a certain point in our talk, the kids stopped bothering us. Which made us wonder whether they had wondered off into the night. When we were done, we discovered the reasons for their silence. Stalwart Book Plate employee Jo was kind enough (and inventive enough) to help the kids contrive a fort among the stacks.

As you can clearly see, it was a kids fort.

It delighted the kids to no end.

And though you may not know (I certainly did not), no kids fort is complete without a stuffed crab named Enrique living on the roof. (Note that said Enrique must be clearly labeled.)

It was a great night.

A night of bad weather and good friends.

Here’s to seven more years (at least) of the same.