Three years ago, in May, we lost the Dogtor's mother (above, left), just as I gave birth to our first daughter. This spring we lost Mom Mom, the Dogtor's grandmother (above right). Both women were inspirations for me, and I find myself wanting to share the good stuff with them - the babies, the writing, the Dogtor in his prime.
We put Captain Nemo, our first dog, down in April. One of my friends took her own life two weeks ago. I have always given birth in spring, and the weather, the scent in the air, makes me restless as I remember the sleepless nights, the profound changes I've come around to as the Vermont winter fades.
There are gardens to put in, final papers to grade. Bebe Z is walking. I sold my novel to Scribner. When I run, often at twilight, I am bowled over by Vermont's natural beauty, the vernal pools teeming with peepers and red-winged black birds. There is an embarrassment of good stuff in my life right now, but that doesn't keep me from getting a knot in my throat when I'm out on the porch alone, sun setting.
Thinking time is writing time.