The rain has come and gone and come again—sending torrents, sprinkles, showers, mists, and what my grandmother called “pitchforks and hammer handles.”

My feet are still up instead of walking for a couple more days, Jeanie Tomalek’s painting has been lost by the UPS since 19 May, the Russian doll and the CD from Estonia are still somewhere between there and here even though the Atlantic is not so big as the Pacific Ocean, Butterfly Fontanelle has been submitted for the third time (did I already mention that?), the left side of my jaw remains tender (I may never chew on that side or anything crunchy ever again), my son helped me download software that removed the (thirty-eight!) malware things on my computer, I have been revising work for a collection of slightly-to-seriously non-realist stories in order to submit (to someplace), and I am laying out yarn for a “Strawberry” warp. I might not have all the colors I want for the weaving, but I tell myself that sometimes forging ahead with what I have works out best. In between writing paragraphs, I move skeins around. Continue reading →