Backstage Door

     We arrived at the Peter Kirk Community Center in Kirkland a half hour or so before I was to ‘report for duty’ as a panelist at NW Bookfest.  I was duly registered as a presenter on the “Writing and Researching Family History and Genealogy” panel.  I had a fake nametag and a complimentary bottle of water and I was good to go.  I hoped.
     I had written my name on the reverse of Richard Hobbs’ nametag.  I was his last minute replacement and, although my name rather than his was posted in most places, no one had remembered about the nametags.  Oh well.  What’s in a name as they say.
     As we approached the entrance, we heard the cheerful strains of “The Music Man” marching music and realized that the Community Center abutted the Performing Arts Center and the matinee was just beginning.  There, a few steps below us, was the stage door – wide open to catch some air. Young dancers and actors were abustle – warming up, checking makeup, going over lines.
     We stopped for a few minutes to watch. Soon we were joined by three other Bookfest folks, one of whom was eerily familiar looking.  Ed Nixon, the late President’s brother, had been on a panel talking about his recent book.  But what we talked about outside the Stagedoor was the excitement of the scene below us – assurance that the future of theater is in good hands.
     I went on inside to meet my fellow panelist, Research Librarian Lisa Fraser of the King County Library System.  There would be just the two of us – more of a panelette than a panel.  It all went well.  We were enthusiastically received and there were people in the audience who had actually come specifically to see me!  Wow!
     Later, I sold a book or two and had the pleasure of meeting Joan and Peter Hockaday from Bainbridge Island.  Joan, too, had been a panelist talking about her book Greenscapes,  But what we had in common was that our books had been published (hers directly after mine) by WSU Press and we had both worked with Editor Glen Lindeman.  Plus the the Hockadays have visited Oysterville many times.  They promised to stop by the next time they are in the village.  I hope they do.