History Works Itself Out In The Living.

Your Life Feels Different On You, Once You Greet Death And Understand Your Heart's Position. You Wear Your Life Like A Garment From The Mission Bundle Sale Ever After - Lightly Because You Realize You Never Paid Nothing For It, Cherishing Because You Know You Won't Ever Come By Such A Bargain Again.

Every So Often Something Shatters Like Ice And We Are In The River Of Our Existence. We Are Aware.

Now I'm Sixty-one... Sixty-two, Pretty Soon. It's A Really Interesting Age. Now We Have Women Of Your Age, And Coming Up, And All These Fantastic Writers, Who Have Managed To Have Their Children But Continue With Their Art, Their Work. I Think Women Are Doing The Most Interesting Writing Right Now, The Most Interesting Art. I See Everything Through This Lens, Of Women Finally Taking Their Place In The World. Their True Place. And It's Very, Very Exciting To Me.

To Sew Is To Pray. Men Don't Understand This. They See The Whole But They Don't See The Stitches. They Don't See The Speech Of The Creator In The Work Of The Needle. We Mend. We Women Turn Things Inside Out And Set Things Right. We Salvage What We Can Of Human Garments And Piece The Rest Into Blankets. Sometimes Our Stitches Stutter And Slow. Only A Woman's Eyes Can Tell. Other Times, The Tension In The Stitches Might Be Too Tight Because Of Tears, But Only We Know What Emotion Went Into The Making. Only Women Can Hear The Prayer.

It Didn't Occur To Me That My Books Would Be Widely Read At All, And That Enabled Me To Write Anything I Wanted To. And Even Once I Realized That They Were Being Read, I Still Wrote As If I Were Writing In Secret. That's How One Has To Write Anyway--in Secret.