As some of you know, my dog, Crosley, and my step-dad, Charlie, were both ill last week. I would like to thank everyone who sent their prayers, good wishes, and happy thoughts our way. We lost both of them on Friday the Thirteenth, just 6 hours apart. I was there for the one, but not the other. My husband held strong 100 miles away, as he cuddled Crosley during his final moments.

Since then, I’ve been reading a lot of Ibsen, drinking too much strong tea, and helping plan the funeral for the man who raised me. Yesterday, in a few short hours, I finished a short story that I started a year ago. Thank goodness that my words have not failed me. Blogging will be hit or miss for the next week or so, but it will not cease. I love my little A Small Press Life community too much for that. Some day, when I am up to the challenge, I will share with you what Crosley and Charlie meant to me.

“It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer…and everything collapses.”-Colette