Today is the day after Grace's birthday. She would have been--unbelievably--twelve years old. I wanted to write something yesterday, but found it a particularly tough one and never got to sit down and do it. We have an informal routine of going to the cemetery in the morning of her birthday and then Lorne and I having breakfast together. And then eating Grace's favorite dinner--pasta and cucumbers--at night. My cousin always brings rose because Grace's favorite color was pink. Yesterday I got hung up wondering what she would be like as a twelve year old. Maybe she wouldn't like pink anymore. The doctor had predicted she would be very tall, even 5'10 or 11. How tall would she be? Would her pale blond hair have darkened? Would she wear contact lenses instead of her glasses? Not having answers made me so sad. Every day has its moments of sadness, but her birthday, a day with so much promise and hope in it once, somehow is the worst day.

Ah! I shouldn't be writing such melancholy here. Especially when I spent last week at my niece's wedding in St. Lucia. Wonderful to see her happy, and to spend some uninterrupted time with family.

Looking for a big knitting project for the fall and winter, but haven't yet decided what that will be. I'm happy to be making good progress on my new novel. And happy to still be out in bookstores and all kinds of groups giving readings and talks. Hope to see you at something soon!