Frustration.  I can’t seem to get this next book out.  Dates with the publisher keep changing.  Editing keeps changing.  Old people do not like change--and I am one of those.

When I go to bed at night, I think about a dozen or so things to blog about.  But when I sit down to blog, I can’t think of any of them.  Frustration.

I’ve been thinking about why I don’t get attached to houses.  It’s because I’ve lived in so many of them that none of them are “home.”  Home is Pryor.  It’s not a house--it’s a place--I lived in 7 different houses in Pryor during my life, and twenty other houses.   I’ve been so lonesome since I got back here from going “home” last week.  I have friends here in Edmond, but only two like in Pryor.  I went to “Card” with Carolyn last week and People there knew me.  It is a wonderful think to be “known” and not have to introduce yourself.