two grapefruit

There isn't much left when you peel a pink grapefruit and take the time to get all the white stuff off, so I eat two and dip each segment of perfectly peeled pink flesh in sugar. A delicacy, and something to do while watching Antiques Roadshow. My father peeled them that way. Its funny the stories that come down with time, what sticks, what doesn't.

I finished my book. The title is Life on Dry Land. I hope someone will publish it. Now, I have to write another one. I've already started six, and the pieces I've already written, the quilt scraps, I will stitch together at some point with words so clever and seams so invisible it will seem like it was always just one story.

Enough with the sewing metaphors. I just basted the sleeve of Molly's "neverending sweater" a once-beautiful but never completed, Irish cableknit fisherman's sweater. Mol sits in her chair -- not the one no longer occupied by Bill, her husband who just passed a few months ago -- she wouldn't sit in his chair. Anyway, she sits and knits and knits and now, she has asked me to put a dart in the sleeve. A dart, for the uninitiated, is a wedge of fabric "taken in" to make the garment more fitted. Typically, you see a dart in the shaping of a bodice, but this dart is in the sleeve. Seems Mol went on a few too many rows and one sleeve is wider than the other and it is easier to make the dart than to find a person with one very fat arm.

Such is my work.

I've ordered a Writer's Market, so I can begin the search for a publisher. People still do that. Vanity publishing is a possibility, but I'm not that anxious or motivated. Now, according to people who do this shit, I will be responsible for marketing and getting the word out about my book. So you read it here first. Buy my freakin' book. Thank you.