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Day One: Monthly Letter
Dear Readers, I finished the book. No, let me amend that. I FINISHED THE BOOK! It was a long time coming and for awhile I didn't think I'd ever get there but at 3:08 p.m. on Wednesday August 28th I wrote the last word of the last sentence on the last page of the last chapter of SHORE LIGHTS. I saved the file, shut down the computer, then put my head down on the keyboard and had myself a good old-fashioned cry. SHORE LIGHTS will be on sale in May and I promise that I'll post an excerpt in the next few months. I should see the cover before too long and will scan and post it the moment I do. I have high hopes for the cover -- it seems that my publisher is using some photos I took at Cape May as "inspiration." I can't wait to see what they come up with. A quick rundown on what's new this month:
And that ends the business portion of our show . . . Let's get down to the important issues: our woodchuck/groundhog is still around. Roy was watching him from the deck the other morning and he thinks Chuckie has doubled in size which led me to wondering whether Chuckie might be pregnant. Now I don't know anything about the sex life of a woodchuck but either Chuckie is in a family way or the food supply in our backyard is better than the food supply in our kitchen! In a month or t wo Chuckie should be burrowing in for the winter so I guess the fattening up is pretty normal at this time of year. I continue to find muddy little footprints on the deck each morning, some of which come right up to the sliding doors. One Sunday morning Chuckie's gonna be sitting at the kitchen table waiting for his plate of waffles. I just know it. Two weeks ago Roy was outside mowing the front yard when he tapped on the dining room window and motioned for me to come outside. It was hot out there, humid, the kind of day I try to avoid as best I can but, good wife that I am, I went outside to see what was happening.
I'm so glad I did! A beautiful young doe was munching leaves at the far end of the front yard. Roy sat quietly on the riding mower while I peeked from behind one of the bushes fronting our garage. She was cautious but not afraid. She managed to keep one big beautiful Audrey Hepburn eye trained on us while she enjoyed her salad. I slipped into the house, grabbed my camera, then ran back outside just in time to snap two photos.
I suppose I'm overly romantic about these things but I can't help it. I love animals. I love not knowing what delightful four-legged (or winged) creature will be looking back at me when I open the blinds each morning. I feel like we're being blessed in some way, a visitation from angels. I know, I know. It's just that August was a month of changes for us. We sold my parents' condo a handful of days before what would have been their 54th wedding anniversary. I guess I don't have to tell you that was a very emotional day for both Roy and me. R and I made copies of the checks, deposited them, then headed down to Princeton for lunch where an amazing thing happened, the kind of thing that makes you wonder if all of life is coincidental or if maybe, sometimes, just this once there's a meaning to it all. We were toasting my parents' memory, feeling good about having finally closed out this painful chapter in such a positve way, when a song drifted through the room. Fred Astaire. "Heaven . . . I'm in heaven . . . and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak . . . " My mother's song. The one she'd sing into my answering machine from time to time when the sun was shining through her kitchen window or there was a great movie coming on AMC or she looked across the room and there was my father, still with us, still fighting. I'd come home from somewhere or other, see the blinking light, press the button and her voice would fill the room, "Heaven . . . I'm in heaven . . . " And then she'd hang up. No message but that. Yes, I cried in the restaurant. I couldn't help myself. It was like she'd reached from her world to mine and said, "It's time for you to move on." And I guess we have.
Until next month, 
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August 2002
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