Not that it is important to anyone else, but I am filled with remorse today. I've said this blog is not about my personal life, but I'm realizing as I write these posts that you cannot separate your personal life from your writing life, realized it for the umpteenth time. I got news that a friend of mine lost a friend (I did not know) on a snorkling vacation. Freak accident. So, of course, I thought and felt many things, grief for my friend at the top of the list. This morning I thought about lost time. It is on the minds of people my age, fellow septuagenarians who live with one eye on the clock and the other on a to do list it would take several lifetimes to complete. But I am losing my unfettered writing time. I must devote myself to other, practical concerns. And now I am looking wistfully at all those hours and days I frittered away thinking they would never end. How could I, at my age, believe life goes on forever and I can always do it tomorrow, it being my novel. I think it was a Buddhist who said live your life as if today was the last day. Because who knows? It just might be. Write now, Helen.