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November 25, 2007


Jessica (aka Rose)

Good luck with the surgery Gwen! Thanks for the critique of my poem. It means a lot to me that you take the time to do more than just read.
Don't worry, we'll be here when you get back. Heal fast!


Hope you enjoy your rest time and come back soon! I haven't posted lately because of holiday busy-ness AND because I was finishing your novel! I very much enjoyed The Other Mother and have just given it to a dear friend to read. Just so happens that she's a working mom and I'm a stay-at-home! Blessedly we don't have the Amanda/Thea tension going on, though.

Anyway, I loved the book and I'm thoroughly thrilled to have found your website. I look forward to having some time . . . no. I look forward to MAKING some time to do the latest writing assignments. And maybe even to catch up on the last two!

Be well!

Gwendolen Gross

THANK YOU BOTH, and all the well-wishers who emailed me, called me, brought dinner for the whole family (love you folks).


“He’s your only son, isn’t he?” a mother I didn’t know asked at my son’s fifth birthday party. I’d let him invite his closest friends from pre-school and that included a lot of new parents for me. I knew the children from Alex’s stories in the evening and pick up every day when I spent at least ten minutes playing whatever he and his friends were playing to ease him out of school to departure and home.

“Yes, he is,” I responded to the smirking mother.

“I thought so,” she said, walking away from my bookcase that was full not of books but rather portraits of my son at various ages involved in myriad activities – climbing, hiking, swimming, running, playing baseball – watching the ball he’d just hit sail over the house -, tree-climbing, dining, yawning the untainted, sweet yawn of the newborn.

I stood by the shelves as the children and parents milled about, finding a spot on the floor, the couch, the window seat, the chairs in order to better see the party entertainment: a magician. I looked at the pictures the sarcastic mom had belittled with her tone, and tears came to my eyes as I looked at all the years I would never have again. The hay ride when he was three where he got to pick a pumpkin which he decorated as well as to ride a pony for the first time and pet a variety of farm animals, his face full of awe. The pool in Puerto Rico from which he alighted every ten minutes or so to run on his little legs to the bathroom quite a distance from the pool. What three year old doesn’t pee in the pool, I thought? My sweet Alex apparently, who drank the water and peed it out six times an hour.

“Who wants to be my helper for the first trick?” the magician asked.

“Me!” screamed a dozen four and five year olds. Alex sat shyly in the front not sure if he should scream, too.

“Well, I think maybe the birthday boy should come up and pick our first assistant.”

Click. My husband took a picture of the beaming Alex as he proudly got up and stood next to the magician. He glanced at the sea of expectant faces and said in a soft voice, “Maybe my mommy could help with the first one.” Click. My husband took a picture of me.

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