I have concluded that I am going to have to be practically totally discreet on some subjects-notably, that of my personal romantic relationships. I have no desire to be fantasy fodder for anybody I don't know well (well, at least she's got some limits, my older readers say thankfully). The less fuel I provide, the better.

If I'd wanted to be an exhibitionist, I would have gone in for a profession where you need considerably less in the way of outergarments. However, that gives me plenty of room to rant about the complications, amusements and joys of living with men and learning to love them.

Talking about love-the grief I feel for my dad, the truth of his suffering, has pushed me to appreciate even the less "important" but wonderful moments in this eccentric house. After a dinner in which Colin picked at his vegetables-no tomatoes, no peppers allowed to touch that fussy boyish mouth-he was, naturally hungry. Reading one of his endless fantasy novels in his favorite spot on my bed, he said to me "the next time you come in, I hope you have carrots!" And not just one helping !!! No self-respecting mom would let her son eat on her bed after dinner...would she?