Funny how things that didn't quite fit into my other books are finding their way into this one. Today, in the next to the last chapter, the night-blooming cereus metaphor just, finally, belongs. I thought it belonged in Undressing the Moon, but it didn't. IIt only took four years to find the perfect spot. Anyway, I am feeling melancholy about this book coming to an end. It's like when a good friend moves away. Post-partum depression. I'm dragging, dragging my feet (and all other appendages as well as a heavy sack of rocks) as I near the end.
On Friday I'll be painting frogs and snails for a 15 month old. I met with his mom today, to discuss said frogs, and ended up staying to chat for over an hour. I'm finding the other moms here is so bright (this one a lawyer who has decided to stay home -- a Harvard grad, no less). Tomorrow is another Purim party at Kicky's school. And this weekend we hunt for eggs. This poor child is going to be so confused.
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