November 15-16, 2009:

Sunday I spent the day in lovely vegetating mode. Read more of Shiver, gathered stories for a collection. Lay in bed thinking and came up with another collection idea, watched tv. That sort of day. The kind most people have on a weekend but writers and artists and freelancers rarely do.

Monday began early with a consultation with a handyman, a go-get-’em sweet guy about the age of my kids who is eager to get to work on a lot of the small and then larger projects this old house needs.

Then off to my local drug dealers. Er, my wonderful neighbors Forrest and Amy and Betty who together run a rare and second-hand book dealership called Joslin Hall. I’d bought some interesting books cheaply in Scotland, the sort of thing they deal in (thir specialty is Decorative Arts) and use it for trade with them. We had tea and a good chat, and then off I went for a bunch of errands. (Mail, bank, groceries.)

Then I settled back in at home to write a poem about playing jacks, work on the two collection ideas, polish the introduction to the ainniversary re-issue of the Froud/Lee Fairies book, and lastly some research for the Girl’s Bible book, using one of the books I’d just gotten from the drug dealers: Traditional Jewish Papercuts.

Oh–and I started reading/looking/absorbing David Small’s powerful graphic novel memoir, Stitches. It is simply breathtaking but has to be done in small doses.

The day ended with Bob Marstall picking me up for the ride up to Northfield, MA. and the November meeting of WMIG, the Western Mass Illustrator’s Guild. We were at Kevin Slattery’s quirky old farmhouse, loaded with his paintings. There were only five of us there. Had a tour of his studio. Sat and talked books, art, artists, business, computer art, taxes. The usual. I adore artists and just eat up this kind of thing. Next month’s meeting will be the Christmas/Chanukah celebration, which means not much business stuff. But, I remind myself, parties are fun, too.

Was up at 5 a.m., went downstairs in my nightgown, sweat pants, bulky bedsocks, put on a coat, and went out on the porch to watch the tag end of the Leonids meteor shower. The few shooting stars were, as always, worth the early morning awakening. Times like this, and one sees how beautiful the world truly is. More beautiful than anything I can possibly write about it. And sad, too, because I miss David most at moments of great natural beauty which we used to share.

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