Though it's absolutely beautiful outside, the Dow Jones went down almost 400 points, the price of oil rose $10 a barrel, and I still haven't heard from the agent about my book. It’s about seven weeks now since she's had it, and I’m getting more and more nervous by the minute – actually by the second. My cell phone rang early yesterday morning while I was in my room getting ready for work, and until I looked to see who had called, my first hope was that it was a call from her. That hope is not too farfetched, because it is just about time that I hear something from her. My friend, Ursula was very cute. She sent me a card with signatures of famous authors pasted on it saying they all want me to be published. And, then again, I can’t help the stinking thinking. There have been a lot of memoirs out lately on the subject of death of a child and madness. One by Isabel Allende, in particular, is definite competition. She wrote letters to her dead daughter, Paula, telling her about her family. A wonderful idea. Of course it’s nothing like my book but it still deals with a dead child. Anyway, I have to keep my confidence up. That’s all I have right now.
Tomorrow we're flying to Denver to visit my brother and his family, and next week I start Italian class. The first step to living in Italy. Ciao!!!!