I love getting parcels in the mail.  When I was little, the weeks leading up to Christmas were full of anticipation waiting for the brown paper box tied with string that would arrive on our doorstep.  

    I remember staring at the colourful stamps and the multitude of customs forms and postal station marks all over it showing its journey as it made its way from my grandparent’s house in Letmathe, Germany to ours in Canada.  

    My mother always made us wait until my father got home to open it and it was torture seeing it sit there on the table, wondering what treats were inside.

    And what goodies there were!  Little square pieces of chocolate covered in brightly-coloured wrappers depicting fairy tales, packages of kokosflocken and little pigs made out of marzipan.  Small presents for us were wrapped in tea towels or table cloths for my mother.  There was always a letter with a few pictures, too. My grandmother used every inch of space and every available gram to send as much as she could. 

    It was with that kind of enthusiasm that I signed for another parcel just last week.  This one contained my author copies for my first children’s novel, Saving Armpit.  

    I have to admit, it was every bit as exciting to open that box to see my books for the first time ...even without the chocolate.