Who'd have guessed that I would have penned more than 70 short essays since December 7? On the days I felt as if I had nothing to say or had completely run out of juice or memories (gingko is bliss), something shows up at the keyboard if I have faith. Since I began, I have re-connected with the nurse who saved my life when I was dying in a hospital from a heart ailment at age 17. We correspond now. I have been connected again with friends from as far removed as junior high and high school, with college buddies, with old lovers, and with my favorite aunt with whom I have not had contact since 1970. The map of people who visit me now spans every continent on earth, whether visitors landed via a topic search in Google, or were searching for me all along.We are not promised tomorrow, but I remain in deep gratitude and grace for so many of you this day, those of you from London, or my old haunts in Seattle and Alabama, and friends in the Bay Area who have so kindly read along and sent word of support when I thought I was typing into a vacuum.And for the writers I knew in my graduate writing programs and former students who have emailed words of grace. And for my special muse who from the beginning lent me her enthusiasm and sent so many readers over here, and encourages me to keep writing when I wonder if it's worth the bother (a false and misguided perception if I ever had one--and I've had many). And for people who walk in recovery with me or who have lived through the craziness of my exploits and remain my friends. And for my family--always there--always.I'll yank this down soon and start posting again. But today, I wept with joy at the staying power of language and the unexpected friendships of so many. I am suffering like others from the recession, having lost 90 percent of my freelance clients since January, and struggling to make rent...but this blog, you, and the spirit of loving kindness, sustains me.G
