On July 11, 1970, my mother sat down to write a journal entry:"It seems I only sit down at the typewriter when I know I have to stop soon; so that I can say, darn, just as I was getting going, I have to stop, and thus am saved the embarrassment of not being able to spew forth the mighty ideas I fancy I have in my head."
And I sit down today at my laptop when I know I have no time to write. I repeat her lament 40 years later.
I realize that the date of this entry, July 11, is the same on which my mother died, 37 years later.
