This time next year

A fun afternoon paddling in streams and making cookies with some grandchildren yesterday. The day before it was library story time with the other local grandchild. I am so happy to have them close by. Although I might not have said that when GrandDaughter1 giggled and slopped her hands around the blob of supposed-to-be cookie dough, covering everything in flour and bits of flying-around-cookie. And GrandDaughter2 kept asking, 'Can I lick this?' and both of them kept eating the chocolate chips. Cooking with children is such fun.

What else? I suddenly remembered my copy for the next issue of Bay magazine was due shortly. (Do you like the way I drop in that technical term 'copy'? I'm a professional, me.) I decided I'd do some shameless plugging for my novels. (Have you noticed that plugging is almost always shameless?) I'm waiting to see if it will be rejected on the grounds it's too shameless.

But I impressed myself with unexpected wisdom. When my first novel, This Time Next Year came out Uncle bought twenty-five copies to send to various women in his life. Uncle has since died. I was going to make some jokey reference to the down-turn in sales of my books in the final sentence of my article but decided it could come across as heartless if taken out of context. See? Unexpectedly wise.