On her deathbed, she gave her diamond and platinum ring to Gladys, her neighbor and daughter in her heart.

After my parents had gone through the house, donating most, they came back with only a small box of ends and odds. Inside was a ring we'd given her: reflective hematite clasped in silver, subtly southwestern. You can still see the slight weld where it was sized to fit her finger.

I claimed it. First, on my middle finger, now on the ring.

I didn't always like her. I only really knew her after she was dead. I am more a descendant of the southwest than of Sweden. But I've worn a reminder of my grandmother, and of my home, for a decade now. It's a part of me.

Nice one, Sarameg.

That one is nice, sarameg. Though do you mean descendant instead of ancestor in the antepenultimate sentence?

AmyLiz, you can't go wrong with chick. They still use it. Also bird.

And, well, dolly-bird.

'Suela, does the magazine have a letters column? Because that succinctly and politely worded post would make a splendid contribution to it.

Very nice, sarameg.

Though do you mean descendant instead of ancestor in the antepenultimate sentence?

YES. That word just blipped from my head last night (plus when I was wee, I used to always swap them. Habits die hard. ) Hate it when that happens. Thank you.

Nice way to wake up:

From Publishers Weekly

In Grabien's mesmerizing fourth mystery of ghostly suspense (after 2005's Matty Groves), actress Penny Wintercraft-Hawkes gets a call from her long-absent brother, Stephen, who has returned to London from Hong Kong with his wife, Tamsin, to claim land he inherited on the Isle of Dogs, situated on the Thames. Stephen wants Penny's lover, Ringan Laine, a folk musician and expert in period restoration, to consult on his plan to build a Tudor-style manor house on the site. Ringan's uneasy first steps on the isle are only the prelude to the horror of visions to come. A girl who drowns her sister, a pack of baying dogs and a musician from Henry VIII's court invade Ringan's dreams and his waking life. As in previous entries to the series, one of Ringan's folksongs figures into the story and enhances the drama. Grabien's skillful blend of reality and the supernatural will chill even skeptical readers. (Oct.)

I'll take it.

Yay, Deb.

Turned out that they didn't accept any stories. The writers submitting had all failed to include one particular element in their stories--an element that the call for submissions had never mentioned.

Contrary to acknowledging this, the editor of the magazine merely snarked that the SF community "couldn't rise to the challenge", and published only the novella by the fiction editor of the issue.

Oy. That sucks and bites, Suela.

BTW. 'suela, I'm with Bev. If there's a letters column, that post is right on the money about their screwup. And they're wasting writers' time, which is never a good thing.

'suela - that's completely ridiculous! They need to be called on that.