Silver Lining

The sky is clouding up. I put my new plant on the roof. Ever since Oscar died, it has started to die, too. I looked closely at it and there is a web like substance growing at the base of each Hydrangea cluster. I wiped it off, watered it good and took it to the roof where the overcast day is beating down on it, shoving health back into it as we process the loss of our sugar pie and continue to grow, too.

I am planning to invite my daughters to the roof tonight where we will speak and write and draw on the good things of Oscar, our beloved orange cat. I plan to paint the space on the ceiling where once we had a clear skylight during our first year in the apartment. I plan to paint it a soft, cheerful, tangerine. "We'll put a white stripe down it," said Sarah.

Absolutely.

I explained to her that when she and her sister leave the apartment for a time, I see the color go, too. To represent my women, I've learned to place enormous colors in the space, thus keeping those I love here visually and spiritually. When our black and white cat, Russell goes, I'll pull in a sculpture of a cow. This makes me smile.

Working steadily.

Three short stories have been born and the novel is bulging with pregnancy. I also am writing curriculum on the voice. Going to put together a grant, too, to gather the stories of the wise elderly in my neighborhood and beyond. Do the Brenda Ueland thing. I am going to ask my mother if she will do it, first, and I can use her stories as the prototype.

My daughters are at work right now. I went with Leila earlier today to a very popular glove maker in Manhattan. I stood there and looked at the great view from his desk. Enormously famous in the fashion industry, he sits there and makes gloves. He does what he loves.

And with the greatest happiness, strength, and fullness for life, I tell you, dear reader, that I, too, am at my work, as well.