Leave it to the Boy Scouts

I fulfilled my civic duty yesterday and voted, and as I was leaving the polling location a group of Boy Scouts beckoned me over to their fundraising table.

"Would you like to buy a wreath, ma'am?" said a round-faced young teen, adding, "We also have evergreen garland, and we deliver!"

I stood motionless for a moment, considering the prospect of a fresh, fragrant wreath delivered just in time for the holidays, and practically smelling the aromas of pine, forest, and earth just at the thought.

"Mom, can we buy some cookies?" my daughter interrupted. I scanned the table and saw four or five curious-looking plastic bags containing some indiscernible baked items. "Hmmm..." I muttered as my eyes darted across the table, spying a chartreuse-colored soda. "How about some Swamp Juice?" I said, picking up the bottle and eyeing the label.

The soda label read "Avery" - a Connecticut name I recognized because a few years ago, when my friend's daughter Avery was born, I thought a six-pack of soda bearing her name would make the perfect gift. I guess it still could, if ever I'd buy the soda, pack it in a box, and send it to Cape Cod.

I was practically kicking myself for not having bought the soda three years ago when I noticed the words "Living in the Valley" written across the top of the soda label. Wow, that rings a bell, I thought. Living in the Valley. Living in the Valley. Living in the Valley. Why does that..oh!

And then I remembered. Last summer I met some people around the pool during my daughter's swim team practice and we got to talking and I guess I happened to mention that besides being a personal assistant and chauffeur and wannabe tennis pro and vacuum artist a la Edward Scissorhands that I've also written a bunch of books. Books of the fun, gifty variety. Then, this writer from a lovely, local glossy magazine called Living in the Valley contacted me and we compuchatted (I made up that word, but I like it. Way more personal than "e-mailed eachother."). And that was that. Life carried on, as it does.

At the polling location yesterday, standing in front of the Boy Scout table, my eyes drifted from the soda label to the Living in the Valley magazine propped up behind the sodas, and I couldn't help noticing the print at the top of the cover page that said something to the effect of, "Ruth Dynamite Books Available Bla Bla Bla."

"Oh. Um, excuse me? May I, ah, take a look at this?" I asked the Boy Scouts, holding up the magazine and realizing, simultaneously, that this was merely a prop and not, as it turns out, a bankable fundraising item.

"Sure. Go ahead." said the round-faced boy.

I looked at my children and pointed to the magazine cover. "Hey. Lookie here!" I whispered.

My son stared blankly, as new kindergarten readers tend to do, but my daughter, the second grader said, "Hey, that's you!"

I flipped through the magazine and found what I was looking for: myself. Yes, I found myself not on a mountain top, nor through some sort of divine revelation, but there, on a page in a magazine, implied behind images of beer mugs and sticky poop.

In hushed tones I said to my daughter, "Psst. See your name right here? And your brother's?"

She looked at me and nodded, not quite sure if she should be proud or embarrassed by her mother - a feeling she'd probably have to get used to for years to come.

And that was that.

I still have no copies of this article - an article which outs my blog and my name.

Oh well.

Edited to add:
Sorry, folks. I can't find an online version of the article, and unless you live in my neck of the woods, you probably won't find a hard copy, either. I found it in my local Barnes & Noble, where they also sell other stuff. But I'm sure the nice people who wrote the nice things will see I get a few copies to give my family and friends. Oh - and Oprah, of course.