Will I actually (finally) do the right thing and cancel my FB account if they allow trump back on? (Perhaps WHEN should be subbed for IF, since the whole thing has the stink of inevitability and greed about it).
Why am I so loggy in the morning these days?
How do you write a book as good as Hamnet?
Will it ever get warm here in the Northeast?
Does anything compare with a serendipitous trip down a rabbit hole while doing research for my novel (hint: it involves the Quakers in 1758)?
Why can’t I leave comments on blogger blogs? Damn — I keep trying!
When ineptitude or real glitches prevent me from sharing an audio file (in this case, a reading of the chapter that I wrote after emerging from the rabbit hole) is that a signal that I shouldn’t?
How does the rain make Finn’s coat so very soft?
Okay. That was eight questions.
I am going to L.A. at the end of the month for two weeks.
Read that part again.
The girl who couldn’t find QTIPs or her car in the parking lot last week during a simple run to CVS will be flying solo through Denver to LA right before Memorial Day.
I’ll be part of my brother’s care routine and we’ll also see BOTH BOYS. K will join a few days after I arrive. We’ll fly Young One in from Colorado.
I’m a little nervous about being OF USE in my brother’s household. Confident about kitchen routines. Less sure about everything else. The good news is that he has the strength to aid in his transfers now and can manage toileting on his own.
Flashback. I may have told you that the worst part of helping my dying sister with her toileting was how — even in a severely weakened state — she made a devilish rally to tell my how I was doing it all wrong. The shit didn’t phase me in the least.
You know that story about the poor Mexican boy separated from his mother at age 15, reunited with her yesterday after THREE YEARS? I almost cried to see him patting his mother’s back, squeezing her shoulder, tugging on her hair — the gestures saying not only, I love you / I missed you, but are you REAL?
Also heart breaking because they were not the gestures of an eighteen year old, but of a much, much younger child.
No comparison, NONE, but how could I not sit there and make my own tally?
By the end of May, it’ll be nearly A YEAR AND A HALF since we saw our kids.
PS Lest you think Noreen was pure ogre, let me tell you she had a real gift with geraniums. Look at how her plants have thrived even in my northern window!