detour to spreadsheet

The weather has snapped back to cool and wet: we've enjoyed the 1 day as the hole in the Pacific weather rode over our city.

I had just sat down to resume work on chapter 17 when Mom called. She had just talked with the estate lawyer, who had expressed "surprise" that she hadn't sent out a partial distribution to the legatees yet. (He has given many contradictory instructions over the past couple of years, forgetting many and denying others.) So she asked me to help get the final reckoning of the estate together. I went over to her house and got to work on her repaired Dell laptop.

Mom bought me a tuna-salad sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup up at the Lazy Boy Cafe in the Parkgate shopping center. We talked about family issues as we ate at the beaten-up wooden table looking out on the parking lot.

As I drove us back downhill for our afternoon session, I said, "I don't think I'm like other writers."

"No, you're not."

"I don't think the same way, I don't work the same way."

"I'm sure that's true," she said. "But your blog is giving me an idea of what goes into your work."

I did what I could with the workbook; I'll have to continue tomorrow. Hurried home, got some cash. Kimmie's giving blood after work. I'll order a pizza so she can replenish her vital energies.