I have clothes in the dryer and have already washed my hair. This afternoon I’ll make soup to have on hand when Rob gets in from Memphis. He and a friend saw The Who in Memphis last night. More about the Memphis trip later.

Every day for almost a week now, I have been putting the seventh book together. Mercy, I have written so many, many essays. It is hard to winnow the harvest, she said giggling. To be honest, editing is hard work, whereas the words blow in like a warm breeze. I get my “word net” (my Mac) and throw them onto a blank page until it is filled. Then I open the next page and the next. This is my calling.

I am not sure when the book will be ready; but I know now that few people will want it. Truth is for the few, plus I don’t have a publishing house. Just me, myself and I.

Time, albeit an illusion, hangs heavy for me these days. I can do what needs to be done easily and I have many hours of time left over.

The tremor (a full body one) is invisible at this stage. I feel it but probably no one notices it but me. This morning I discover that it is in my voice box, which is much lower since I got the virus that caused the tremor. It makes me feel strung out and because of that, my life is as easy as I can make it. Tremors always get worse and there is no cure, so I am making hay while the sun shines.

My neuropathy is handled by medication plus honoring my limits, as Dr. Bernie Siegel wrote to me in an email when I asked for his advice. “Honor your limits.” That means I have given up driving, travel and anything that I sense would tire me out. Writing refreshes me, so I keep writing.

Yeah, some of you have read what I write many times over. I try to keep the words fresh, but the content remains the same. “It is my life to honor.” I never wrote that before and I like it, I really, really like it. My late husband and daughter would want me to do exactly that and my son understands it himself. Walk on, pilgrim spirit, walk on.

Vicki Woodyard.