Wow, what a catchup! Good vibes for Allyson (because I can't wait to buy this book), and for Deb (because... well, just because!)

(It still feels weird to try to talk to people, because I've lurked for so long, and though it seems like we all know each other, we still really don't. Well, you don't know me, at any rate.)

OK, less blabbling, more drabbling...

Picture 5

He built the light at Cape Kumukahi, and she fell in love. He was exotic and warm, and she married him after two weeks. He followed where the work led, and she sailed from tiny Pahoa into their future.

There were ten houses, three children, and 25 years. Good times and bad, they were home wherever they were. A party, cake and hothouse flowers for their anniversary, snapshots of a life well lived.

She returned to Pahoa, after he died. She lived on the coast, and his ashes joined the sea. She was his life, and he was her home.

That's beautiful, Ailleann.

(blink)

DAYUM, Ailleann. That one just flows - it's so even and easy and nice, it's damned near tidal.

I think I've found a way to keep most of the stuff I've written up - since I wasn't Grabien back then, if I just make sure he isn't mentioned by name in anything, it should be invisible to anyone who isn't reading them here.

Received from my agent this morning:

My most recent reply from Ruth Cavin states that you just write too fast for her. But she is planning on getting back to me the beginning of next week with an offer. And says: "I don't doubt I would want her next book."

So, I think it's OK. I'd be happier if she'd used the plural, since the proposal is for three. But if she'd used that last line say, oh, two months ago? She'd have saved me a lot of worrying.

Well qualified relief, then, on both counts. But yeah, I can't see her *not* wanting Cruel Sister, or its sequels. Moneymakers for the house, especially after Famous Flower's numbers.

So, this home drabble? I can't do it. Oh, I did it earlier in the week, with the picture prompts. But now... Let me back up.

Tuesday, my mother met with the realtor to put her house on the market. Mum had had the house on the market for about a week, back in November. When she met with the realtor, they were set to list it for the same asking price. That night, the realtor called my mother and said she thought they ought to set it for $12,500 higher than last time. Mum--liking money as much as most humans do--said, "Sure."

It went on the market Wednesday morning. Mum got an offer for $5,000 less than the new, improved asking price, before supper time, that very day. When she called to tell me, I told her to take it, and promptly started crying. I tried to hide that as best I could, but she could tell by my voice.

This morning, I took Ben to school, and took Julia and Chris with me, so Scott could sleep. We stopped for Munchkins, and went by my mother's house. The realtor was just driving up with the paperwork my mother had to sign, in order to formally accept the offer. The P&S is scheduled in about a week and a half. The closing will be early in August.

Suddenly, "There's no place like home," takes on a whole new meaning.

They've owned it since I was eight. Moving there was terribly exciting. Yard space, trees, badminton court, patio, large open spaces, much better than the rentals we'd lived in until then.

We didn't stay long -- my childhood was marked with abrupt moves, but they didn't sell the house in our absence. Returning, in my twenties, was like every delayed return. So small. Dingier. Strange.

Not my home, anymore, but still theirs. They've ripped out my memories from the eighties, relaid and repaved and repainted. It shines and it beckons -- but to them now, not me.

Cindy, if you want to break open in here, I'm sure no one would mind. :)

ita, deb, I'm glad you liked it. Doing these is making me a critical editor. I write it, then I go back and try to make it shorter and better. And it usually ends up going in a different direction. The he/she repetition happened naturally in the first part. I saw it, thought "Woah, did I just do that? And can I do it again?" So I cut the whole last part, and replaced it with the same scheme, and it was SO much better.

By the by, the lighthouse, cape, and Pahoa are all real... the things you find when you Google "hawaii 1934"!

P.S. ita, it hurts so good.

Wonderful, ita. That's the stuff I can't seem to let out.

Ailleann, thanks. I have about 4 MS Word documents saved, each different, each unfinished. I was conceived there. Sometimes, sitting here, I say I want to go home. I mean I want to go there.

I never had that place, as a house. Even though I've lived in the same town, there've been many houses and apartments. That was why I thought I wanted to buy a place and stay, but now... I'm not so sure I did right.

So, this home drabble? I can't do it.

I can't either. I mean, I could, but it's too hard. I never had that, because we moved too much, but wanted it so very much. Even now, I don't want my folks to leave the house they're in till they're dead, because I need...something. Somewhere. And we don't own yet, and may not for some time.

"Home" is hugely loaded for me, and very emotional. And I'm a little too close to the edge this week anyway to attempt writing about it.

Loving everyone else's, though.