One Saturday early in these weird 2020 times, a hundred hopes and dreams laid out before me, including the novel I’m working on and the novel I’m trying to move to the next step after that, I suddenly needed to finish something. The unfinished reading I could knock out the easiest happened to be A Night to Remember, the true story of the sinking of the Titanic by Walter Lord.
Guess what? At this very moment, I am writing to you in the wee sma’s (that’s Anne-speak for “the wee small hours of the morning”). It is the wee sma’s for me anyway, but I just want to make it clear I am not beginning a habit. I just happen to be vaguely energized this morning, and when I woke an hour before my alarm, I couldn’t stop thinking about
So, this is a tree. It used to stand straight up on the west side of our house, in the neighbor’s yard. Our street is great for trees. In a really good summer and fall, they give the illusion of fully covering the street. When Jake was younger and we walked home from the park one day, he said, “I love where our house lives.” The trees were really pretty