A Last Journey to Lorien~
Or, A Dream Comes True Again.
In October 2019 I wrote a short blog entry about a course of events that I could owe to a book I pulled from a box in eleven years earlier.
The Ape Who Guards the Balance by Elizabeth Peters set the trajectory of my life on that otherwise unremarkable day, and the knowledge that I simply skipped home none the wiser of how deeply it and its author would affect my life still gives me goosebumps.
I have looked back at that moment countless, and at all the moments that stemmed from it, with elated and sometimes stupefied astonishment. Moments that include choosing to attend Hood College because I read MPM lived in Frederick and had an honorary degree from that institution, pursuing my budding interest in archaeology/art history and Egyptology, and even traveling to Egypt.
After graduating college, I discovered and helped cultivate the most amazing community of fans on Twitter, and through that channel TeamRamses and Beth Mertz, MPM’s daughter. The two of them have been such joys to get to know and talk to on social media, the main forum for the MPM fans I know. It’s not often I run across people who know the books in real life, so being able to talk to fans from around the world online is important to me.
Funnily enough, it is rarer for me to find casual fans of MPM’s work than it is for me to find people who actually knew her.
In 2017 with the launch of The Painted Queen, I met the owner of Wonder Book, Chuck, who had been dear friends with MPM, as well as Ray and Jay, Egyptologists who not only knew MPM, but also purchased and moved into her Frederick home a few years after her death.
Eventually I would come to work at Wonder Book, and in that fateful October of 2019, I was invited to see the house and gardens, MPM’s Lorien.
One might suppose with that jewel in my proverbial crown, that this would be the end of a superbly lovely and incredible tale.
Oh, Dear Reader, it was not the end.
At the end of April of this year, I had the privilege to attend Malice Domestic—an annual conference of mystery writers and readers. TeamRamses and myself were kindly invited by Beth to be a part of the fun in honoring her mother, and while I was only able to be there for that Saturday’s events, I had the most wonderful time.
I brought along my mother and one of my best friends—my roommate from college actually, so you could say I kind of owe MPM even more for the push that had me attending Hood—and we had a blast listening to the panels and walking the book room. You all likely know how hard it was for me to not snatch up a million books to buy in that room…
And then it was time for the panel. And here is where I met TeamRamses for the first time in person. There is something so special about meeting someone who loves a book series and author just as much as you do, even if online, and then to finally be able to hug and talk face to face. And TeamRamses is so easy to talk to, and so insightful about books and fandom. Chatting with her on the balcony outside later in the evening while we waited for the banquet was delightful. We talked books and television, and brought up all of our favorite topic: Who is your dream Amelia Peabody cast? Maybe we can run a panel on that someday. Or better yet, a panel about a show itself! Wishful thinking, I know.
The authors gathered on the panel for MPM discussed her amazing characters and her lasting influence over their own works. As soon as Gigi Pandian opened the discussion on Amelia, with an introduction along the lines of, “Peters’ most famous and beloved heroine” I felt a suspicious tingling in my eyes. As Amelia might say, just a bit of dust, nothing more!
But truthfully, I felt briefly overwhelmed. It’s been nearly 10 years since MPM’s passing, but being in a roomful of people celebrating her and thinking of Amelia and seeing her so vividly in my mind as I have for 15 years, sort squeezed the breath from me for a second. All of this culminated when we all realized that Barbara Rosenblatt, the voice of Amelia, was in the crowd and graciously answered a fan’s question, and illuminated us all on MPM’s more mischievous side.
When it was time for the banquet later that evening, I was seated at the same table as Gigi Pandian and some of MPM’s old friends; her veterinarian and her husband and son. It definitely still hits me in hindsight, how incredibly lucky I was to have gotten that seat. To be able to talk to an author so influenced by MPM. To hear first-hand accounts from the friends that knew her so well, including a riveting tale involving a treed raccoon and some rather presumptuous hunters. I have added each little detail I’ve picked up from her friends to my ever-increasing regard for the woman. In hearing these stories, I know I am beyond fortunate.
At the next table, Beth and TeamRamses sat with Beth’s family and Chuck. Barbara Rosenblatt was also in their set, and when I turned suddenly to find Chuck standing with her at my side…Reader, you should have seen how wide my eyes got. I could feel them become starry saucers. I shook her hand and thanked her—in my mind for all of the beautiful narration she has done for the Amelia books and beyond—though in reality it probably looked like I was just thanking her for standing next to me. Let’s be honest, I kind of was. Chalk one up for me being completely calm and smooth, certainly. If you ever read this, Barbara, I promise I’m more eloquent when I’m not star-struck!
Unfortunately, I was unable to stay for the entire award ceremony that night, but I took with me so much from that dinner and the people I shared it with. To them I also wish to say, “Thank you.”
The drive home gave me time to reflect. What a wonderful day. What a wonderful gathering of people. What a wonderful woman MPM had been. I turned to my friend, not for the first time that day mind you, and asked, “So when are you gonna read Amelia?”
On the following Sunday I was invited, along with my mother and TeamRamses, to visit Lorien again once more before Ray and Jay move.
Now, as I said before, I’d been to Lorien once, in the fall of 2019. But coming around that corner and seeing the house on that little rise again…
At this rate, I feel most everyone has seen photos of the house and gardens. I don’t know if I could paint that same scene with words that can’t be gleaned from those images. If you have not seen the photos, you can likely Google the real-estate listing, or find it on the Facebook fan page: Another Shirt Ruined. I recommend it; they’re a feast for the eyes.
Nothing I say could do it justice, but there are a few things that can’t be extricated from photos, and I’ll do my best to explain here.
Once the visual beauty and appeal of the home has settled around you the next thing you notice is the scent. In fact, you may notice it as soon as you enter the solarium, but the architecture and bright glass walls of the room dazzle, where the smell calms. It permeates the air until you can’t help but pay attention, until it ensconces itself in your memory. Weeks later and I can still recall it; I think I always will be able to.
I’m not exactly sure what it was entirely. Lavender, undoubtedly, as Jay had it hanging in the kitchen, but also the earthy smells of the garden and trees outside. And perhaps, the stone itself imparted a lingering trace of aroma. The overall effect was dreamy and sweet and I could only imagine many a quiet, rainy day in that room, sipping coffee and dozing while the rain ran down the windows and accentuated the smell of the air.
The next thing you notice is the love.
It’s in the very bones of that house. It’s in MPM’s desk and chair that were still in situ. It’s in the bookshelves and artwork and posters that were still hanging in the rooms and up the stair case. It’s in the custom Egyptian murals of the bathroom and the tiles on the kitchen floor and backsplash. And of course, it’s in the gardens; where beloved pets were buried and where so much time and care was given to creating a paradise. It’s in the stories I heard about gatherings and exploits her friends and family recalled.
And that’s where the love was most. In the people that gathered at the open house that day.
As we all walked the rooms of the home, listening to Beth and asking questions, I know we all fell into pockets of personal reverie. Where we could just imagine the life of the woman who’d lived there, who’d filled each room with her blazing personality. It felt like that I had actually met her before, in a sense. And it felt like I could turn a corner and find her there, petting a cat or tending a plant, or writing away at her desk.
After a tour of the house, TeamRamses, my mother, and I took a turn through the garden, ruminating on all the reasons why it would be so easy to never leave the property. It’s simply idyllic, even in the misty weather of that day.
And love was to be found lastly in the performance given by Barbara Rosenblatt.
As a delightful treat for all of us, before she had to drive back up to NYC, Barbara read an except from The Curse of the Pharaohs, the second book in the Amelia Peabody series. Fans will know the scene well—where Amelia and Emerson return to Evelyn’s to collect their progeny…little baby Walter Peabody Emerson.
Ramses, to those of us who know him best.
It was surreal to stand there in MPM’s home and listen to Barbara read. I’m still in a daze thinking about it. A little teary, too. I never gave audio books the time of day until I thought to try the Amelia recordings as a reread method. And to hear her voice come alive in the home where so many of the stories were written? To hear Emerson bellow and Evelyn laugh, to hear baby Ramses proclaim in somber, serious tones, “it is a femuw. A femuw of a winocowus…”
I have said before that somewhere in my mind and heart, I am always in the desert of Amarna with Amelia and Emerson. The first book in the series is my favorite for so many reasons, least of which is the nostalgia and peace it brings me. My original copy is well loved, and I know pieces of it by heart. Part of me is sitting with them at the fire, looking at the stars and listening to the jackals, chiding Walter and Evelyn’s young love, and scoffing at Lucas. Part of me is always snickering at the feelings brewing between Amelia and Emerson, even as he sets his own pocket on fire and she bosses him around.
In the same vein, I know part of me will always be standing in that solarium with MPM’s nearest and dearest, listening to Barbara read. The smell of lavender, rain, and stone in the air, the sound of all our laughter, and the sense of MPM just out of eyeshot, chuckling with us all.
I write my own story, from time to time. I’m not very disciplined with it, at least, not as much as I used to be. I have varying feelings about it, and I don’t imagine it will ever be much more than a tale of my own whimsy. But I do feel like every time I add even a little bit to it, that I’m adding to a love letter to MPM. And I do think I could add endlessly to a love letter to MPM. Writing my story, reading her books, talking to fans and friends on Twitter—it’s my way of saying thank you, thank you, thank you a million times over to an author I owe so much to.
So does the story end with the last visit to Lorien, the last glimpse into the sanctuary of a woman I can only wish to have met? Maybe. But so many things have happened these last 15 years that can find threads trailing back to my decision to read that book.
I can’t wait to see where she leads me next.
