Hello this evening of November without snow, but that is all I will say about the white stuff. I've just come home from WWW where we bring to each other (4 0f us) what we have written, since we are Whining Women Writers. Best thing is that if we fail to do it we are in trouble, so we do it. We write. and it is fun. Pretty big stretch from cooking for hunters. The feed back is what I like. I guess it's called editing. Today was a push for me

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In the past months I've bought some art which tells me about change and progress and green power. One piece hangs at the end of the barn alleyway framed by a Russian window we brought home with us from Moscow in 1977. The Chinese artist painted his play ground as a child in his village in China. The scene is his alleyway lined with very very old houses featuring crumbling corbels, dark corners and a wondrous ice blue sky persuading you that just behind that row is a yellow sun. The reason I needed to have it is the electric lines cutting across at an angle toward ancient insulators across and higher than anyone walking or riding his bike along that narrow path/road would find as a nuisance.

I wondered if that change was one or two generations ago. And how did that power represented, change the lives in that alleyway.

Enough already. This paragraph lets you think about the possible subject of what I wrote, and read today at WWW.

Hunters are finished. Many happy guys left with their treasured deer pheasant or duck. And full stomachs from the table scape.

come back for the rest of the story...til then...JoAnne