Sunday: Writing Church is In Session
It is hard to believe, but snow is coming. All our bulbs have popped: tulips and hyacinths and daffodils and little corcuses are bobbing all around our house like soft fireworks. But the never-ending Illinois winter is going to take another shot. Won't the song-birds be amazed. Our white birch has rows of perfectly-placed holes in its trunk--the crazy woodpecker has been banging away at everything that doesn't move. He's small, looks like he's wearing a checkerboard on his back. He's really doing a number on the weeping willow behind our house. And the owl is back, calling his odd muffled whoots at night. It's a welcome chaos of living here: cardinals, red wing blackbirds, goldfinches, chickadees, ducks, the paranoid and clearly demented lone wild turkey, gangs of delinquent geese. So we make Sunday coffee and watch the political shows and wonder if the snow will really come, and if it will kill off all our flowers.

UW in Seattle has selected Devil's Highway as their campus read. This ought to make my immigrant-bashing pals unhappy. 6,000 copies of the book going out in one shot. It's hard to believe. That's basically an entire press run. I cannot state clearly enough that I don't know how to deal with the stress of DH-related appearances. So much seems to depend on how I present and represent material that causes me deep sorrow and pain. Gee, it's so much easier talking about Teresita or creative writing! After all, there are never disgruntled curandera-haters who want to shoot me or yell at me or insult me or threaten me and my family in anonymous e-mails. But I was raised on wrestling. I will crush them all. They are pencil-necked geeks, and I will apply the Iron Claw and watch their brains shoot out of their heads!

Let us pray:

"Meanwhile, let us have a sip of tea. The afternoon is brightening the bamboo, the fountains are bubbling with delight, the soughing of the pines is heard in our kettle. Let us dream of evanescence, and linger in the beautiful foolishness of things." --Okakura Tenshin

Yrs., L

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