Though it’s absolutely beautiful outside, the Dow Jones went down almost 400 points, the price of oil rose $10 a barrel, and I still haven’t heard from the agent about my book. It’s about seven weeks now since she’s had it, and I’m getting more and more nervous by the minute actually by the second. My cell phone rang early yesterday morning while I was in my room getting ready for work, and until I looked to see who had called, my first hope was that it was a call from her. That hope is not too farfetched, because it is just about time that I hear something from her. My friend, Ursula was very cute. She sent me a card with signatures of famous authors pasted on it saying they all want me to be published. And, then again, I can’t help the stinking thinking. There have been a lot of memoirs out lately on the subject of death of a child and madness. One by Isabel Allende, in particular, is definite competition. She wrote letters to her dead daughter, Paula, telling her about her family. A wonderful idea. Of course it’s nothing like my book but it still deals with a dead child. Anyway, I have to keep my confidence up. That’s all I have right now.

Tomorrow we’re flying to Denver to visit my brother and his family, and next week I start Italian class. The first step to living in Italy. Ciao!!!!

Speak Your Mind