It has been awhile, hasn’t it, since I posted anything here? Books written, published and sold, well, still selling, here and there. And then there’s my third novel, Mine Dances, sequel to Monkey’s Wedding, finished for the most part, but I’m going back through it. Holy moly! It’s amazing how time away is s. Way back before my memoir, Loveyoubye, which was actually the last book I wrote. There’s some famous quote about writing a million words before a writer finds their voice. Though that is probably true, for me it was finally getting comfortable with the whole process. And trusting myself.

Meanwhile, COVID has come upon us. Sent us all scurrying into our shelters as best we can. Just so you know, I see this as a huge opportunity for all of us to attune to the big change that’s coming, not the shitass change that’s been happening since 2016, which is actually grist for the mill for us to sort through the crap and realize what’s important, to get a grip on what’s important in life. To claim our God given sovereignty.

As a semi-hermit and writer, COVID hasn’t been much of a change for me. I miss going out to dinner with friends, the summer ritual of dancing at Music in The Park, swaying to the various Sunset Serenaders while perched on the cliff above the ocean in Heisler Park. Aah! those sunsets! And hugs. I miss those full body hugs.

Meanwhile, I’m writing and studying and gardening, and exercising. And trying to decide what to eat for dinner. Treated myself last week to a pair of million dollar seafood enchiladas from Nick’s South, downtown, (OMG! their food is fabulous!) and a mezcal margarita. In a plastic cup. With a lid. Had to a wait a tad ’cause they fucked up my order, sort of, anyway, had to restrain myself from taking a sip right there in the wait line. Would’ve, but it meant I’d have to lower my mask and I didn’t want somebody yelling at me. Must say I do like my drink in a glass. And cold. And no lid.

I’m working myself up to another dining splurge, either ZPizza, cadillac of pizzas, or so I’ve heard. They deliver, but I’m way too cheap to pay the delivery charge. And then there’s the whole flash-fried Tilapia at Ricardo’s, eyes and all. Crispy, belly button tingling good! But it’s a bit of a drive. Will have to wait and see. I’ve been threatening to walk down to the brew pub a block away and have a beer. By myself. Just chug it down and then walk home. But it doesn’t really sound that good once I give it a second thought.

As I write this, Fergie, aka Fergalicious, is stretched out on her donut bed, next to me, snoring. I’m thinking of dying the white fur around her chops, can’t take that she’s showing her age (unlike me, HA!), eleven next month. Still haven’t gotten over losing Jake, three years ago this month. New addition to the household, teenage Cooper, an absolutely delightful, loving, brilliant black cat, keeps us both entertained.

Sending everybody who reads this much love and a virtual hug!