Our Children Change Us... Whether They Live

From Fried Witchetty Grubs To Gold-plated Turnips, When You're A Writer You Never Know What's Going To Appear On Your Plate Next. It Keeps A Woman Alert, It Does.

His Outflung Hands Traced Over The Threads Of His Rug, Passed Loop By Loop Through Some Patient Woman's Hands. Or Maybe She Hadn't Been Patient. Maybe She'd Been Tired, Or Irritated, Or Distracted, Or Hungry, Or Angry. Maybe She Had Been Dying. But Her Hands Had Kept Moving, All The Same.

Surely Only Correct Understanding Could Lead To Correct Action.

Not That I Haven't Leaped Up Into The Blinding Light Of Competence Now And Then. It's Sustaining The Altitude That Defeats Me.

When You Give Each Other Everything, It Becomes An Even Trade. Each Wins All.