August 30-September 5, 1020:

The first thing this week taught me: though it has been four and a half years since my beloved David died, grieving is a process that will be part of me forever. Certain anniversaries still have power over me. September 2 would have been our 48th wedding anniversary.  Memories flood in, no longer tsunami strength, often not even a hurricane or Nor’easter. But still powerful enough to remind me that memory can release strong emotions.

And how is that a bad thing?  To be reminded of love is not something to abhor, ignore, shut away. To be reminded of the capacity I have to love is a positive, not a negative. To remember a good life well lived, a man who was my best friend, helpmeet, lover;  a man filled with brilliance and laughter; husband, father to my children, grandfather extraordinaire, a significant part of my life, a significant influence on my living. . . nothing wrong remembering that. So I celebrated him instead of weeping, soul clap hands and sing.

Otherwise, some significant book news. The State of Maine buying 11,000 copies of Baby Bear’s Books to pass out to every child newly entering school, Hallmark doing a special five-year thing with Not All Princesses Dress in Pink, first copies of How Do Dinosaurs Laugh Out Loud sighted (though not be me), a bunch of lovely reviews  including a starred review for Switching on the Moon and a second star for Elsie’s Bird. Oh–and two rejections on manuscripts.

As for writing, I finished a proposal and about eight poems for a book with Jason called WingBeats, revised three chapters for Girls’ Bible and sent off to Barbara Goldin, revised the two speeches for my Dublin trip next week. Did several email interviews.

On the fun side: afternoon tea at Rufflets with Janie Douglas, a dinner at Wayside with Kathy Humphries, several dinners with Debby and Bob, lunch at Elizabeth Wein’s great house in Perth with Bob and Deb, dinner at Pam’s, dinner out at the Byre Theater with Claire G. Then tea and poetry in the Sitooterie when I delivered Christine’s birthday cake and early presents. The next day was her 70th birthday party,  in her wild back garden replete with tea sandwiches, cream tea, wines, and Olympic games (don’t ask) and of course more poetry.

I was to head off to Aberdeenshire for two lovely days with friends Mike and Susan, but she all unaccountably has come down with mumps (or something very like it), so erring on the side of caution and remembering that last year I flew home with a burst eardrum, I canceled the trip. MUMPS! I ask you. . .

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