I never worked so hard in my life as I did this day.
The day started out easy enough. I had been told to expect delivery of the second order of 500 “Lake County History” books, which I had to order in a hurry after I ran out of the first batch. I’m happy to say Lake County History was more popular than I expected. I ran out of books. I hoped the people of Lake County liked what I wrote but they surprised me out of my shoes.
That was dandy. People wanted to know what a wonderful county we have and what an amazing history we have had. Lake County History did the job. The hundred stories I told and what has happened to us during the last 12,000 years, surprised me during the three years it took to research and write the book.
The day brought me a new, unexpected problem. I was called by the freight company, who shipped the books from Dayton, Ohio.
“Your books will arrive between 9 a.m. and 11 a.m.”
That was OK. I was ready to have the 500 books moved into my home for packaging and filling the 63 back orders.
Just as I settled down to wait for the books, a new problem popped up.
Looking forward, happy that I would have books that day to start filling back orders, I had another phone call. It was Josh. Josh is the man in charge of the book shipment from Santa Rosa to me. Santa Rosa is the last freight stop of the shipment from Ohio to California.
“My trucker cannot deliver your books to your front porch. It is a residence. He must drop the pallet in your driveway.”
Before I could answer him, a stranger appeared on my porch. He looked in at me and knocked on the glass for my attention. It was Valentine, the same driver that had brought the first batch of books to my porch a month earlier. He was back.
When I looked out, Valentine’s 18-wheeler freight truck was parked on the road in front of my house. Valentine gave me the sorry news.
“I have been told I cannot bring the books to your porch. You are a residence. Your books are in the drive way.”
He was right. When I looked again, there sat my 500 books (12 to a box; about 45, 40-pound boxes) sitting on a pallet in the center of my driveway near the road.
What was I to do? My porch is 150 feet from the pallet, my porch sits 50 feet higher (my house is on a hill) than the road. For me to lug the boxes from the pallet to my porch was a job more work for me than it was for the Egyptians to move the stone building blocks from the quarry to the site to build the great pyramid of Giza.
Since I couldn’t do it alone and Cleo, my cat, couldn’t help, Valentine decided to break the rules and give me a hand.
The books were moved to my porch in less than an hour. For me to move them into my home where I could box the orders and carry them to Angela, the postmaster of the Upper Lake Post Office, to mail was duck soup by comparison. It was a breeze compared to what I might have had to do without Valentine, the truck driver’s help.
The experience taught me a lesson. Being a writer, especially if you write anything people might like to read, is very hard work.
Gene Paleno is an author and illustrator living in Witter Springs.
