Books

Monday, November 15, 2010

From my desk, I can see through the front window the brilliant color of the red maple by the driveway, its background the rust of a cherry tree foliage and the yellow of another maple. Nearly Thanksgiving and many of the trees won't let their leaves depart, hoping to preserve their own beauty, even as time makes other demands.
The skin hangs in wrinkled folds under my arms where, a year ago, there were smooth, rounded muscles. I am embarrassed, ensnared in vanity, and try to restore more youthfulness with exercize, but it does not work. Were I a tree, I too would cling to my colorful leaves.
And then I think of Elaine Foster, whose mind and thoughts and curiosity glow, at age 86, through the tissues with which time has left her, transmitting the beauty of her inner qualities.
Last week, I spent another eight wonderful hours talking with Elaine, learning more about her research and her discoveries. In the end, I believe I will be able to write a story that introduces you to this special person whom I've had the good fortune to meet.
Meanwhile, work on the second rewrite of the second youth novel was completed last week -- I may have been silent on the blog, but I've been busy -- and I sold a few books in Newport, RI, to fellow Bermuda 1-2 sailors.
Bluebird is on land and buttoned down for the winter. Robin is in her slip and waiting for us to keep the sailing season alive.