Interstitial Moment:

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On the airplane rides to Spartenberg SC for a conference and back again, I have been reading May Sarton’s At Seventy: A Journal. And realizing—as I often do when reading poetry and personal narrative—how little I know about the world and how shallowly I think about things. I am a moment-to-moment kind of person with a mayfly mind compared to those people who can think  deeply about their lives: past, present, future. It was something I admired lavishly in my husband David’s makeup. And I expect it was what enabled him to live life to the fullest without complaint and then turn his face to the wall when he was done.

Do not, I beg you dear readers, write to me and tell me how smart I am or how deep. I am not fishing for compliments, but acknowledging something I understand at the bone level. I am satisfied with my small talent and have made the most of it. I love what I do. I know my place on the pecking order of writers. There is nothing to complain about. It is just an observation.

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