HOME IS WHERE THE CATS ARE

After returning late Sunday evening from Chicago, unpacking, and then puttering about the apartment in a jittery, tired/wired state, I eventually hit the sack and woke up on Monday morning with all three cats purring and snoring loudly on the bed. I also found that I'd been systematically snugged in and encircled with almost every kind of cat toy imaginable -- there was a scratchy raffia ball, a jingle-bell mouse with fuzzy tail, a blue catnip dog, a feather dangle toy, as well as a crackly mouse, crackly butterfly, and crackly frog. It made me feel very happy, and I was glad to be home.

The conference was good. The reading went just fine and was well-attended, and all the copies of my book that had been brought to the conference were sold!

I met a fellow writer/teacher whose mother and grandmother had apparently been longtime friends and correspondents of my father's. He came around looking for me at the South Dakota Review table, and surprised me with a picture of myself at age 5 -- standing on the dining room table in some demented dying-swan pose choreographed by my mother (who liked to master-mind these hour-long photo shoots on top of the dining room table), at my parents' house in Wyoming, in the yellow tutu costume thingy from my very first ballet recital. He'd apparently made the rounds and been showing this picture to my publishers/editors, as well as to my colleagues, before kindly forking it over into my possession! All I can say is at least it wasn't the Batman costume. Enough said.

Click here to see the Amazon.com listing for Year of the Snake, which is now officially up and running. Also, don't forget to e-mail me if you'd like to receive a groovy, Year of the Snake postcard. It's not too late, and you know you want one!