In my room

There used to be a TV series called Boy Meets World, which was wonderful in many respects, not the least of which was the way it would occasionally break the fourth wall and make some meta-comment about itself. One of those instances was when main character Cory's little sister, a fairly constant if background presence, disappeared from the show for a long time. No one mentioned her. If was as if she had never existed. A season or two later she shows up again (older, and played by a different young actress) and someone remarks, "Haven't seen you lately. Where have you been?" She answers, straight-faced, "I was in my room a long time."

I've been in my room for a long time, too.

This year, I lost both my parents, my mother last May and my father last week. As a grown woman, with a husband and children of my own, I find myself orphaned. I am, in a word, shellshocked and I'm sure only beginning to feel the repercussions. Prior to my father's passing, I and my sisters were deeply involved in his daily care. He had, along with other illnesses, Alzheimer's.

Today I am sticking my nose out of from under the rock and testing the air. I heard from an old friend yesterday, Howard Andrew Jones, whom I met many years ago in a critique group. He was one of my first fans, if an unpublished writer can be said to have fans. He's also the person who introduced me to the editor who published my story "Dragon's Eye."

Howard's first novel will be published next February.

Mine is yet to be finished. I will remedy that. Time is a gift meant to be used, because--as I was so starkly reminded this year--it does have an expiration date.