Yesterday my sister Ramey came by to help me decide how to arrange the quilt blocks. We exulted over her having won two writing prizes, briefly reviewed "old times," and commiserated over the death of a favorite author, Frank McCourt.

Crisis! I mention this only in the remotely possible hope that someone has borrowed it from me. Last Thursday I received an order for The Ivory-Billed Woodpecker and have been searching for it ever since. There are only eight places it could reasonably be, and after that--chaos! Only an Amazon.com bookseller would understand. Well, I'll think about it tomorrow. Actually, I'll be looking in every unlikely nook and cranny between now and tomorrow.
*

Added later: Buzz Aldrin was on the evening news, also Gene Cernan, sort of mourning the demise of our space program. Today is the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing. I'm proud that I worked on that program, and sorry that succeeding government administrations have chosen to spend money and go into debt for wars in Asia instead of pursuing the exploration of our solar system.