I Read A Lot. I

I Saw My Ex-husband In The Street. I Was Sitting On The Steps Of The New Library. Hello, My Life, I Said. We Had Once Been Married For Twenty-seven Years, So I Felt Justified. He Said, What? What Life? No Life Of Mine.

But What's A Writer For? The Whole Point Is To Put Yourself Into Other Lives, Other Heads-writers Have Always Done That. If You Screw Up, So Someone Will Tell You, That's All.

My Language Limitations Here Are Real. My Vocabulary Is Adequate For Writing Notes And Keeping Journals But Absolutely Useless For An Active Moral Life. If I Really Knew This Language, There Would Surely Be In My Head, As There Is In Webster's Or The Dictionary Of American Slang, That Unreducible Verb Designed To Tell A Person Like Me What To Do Next.

When You Have A Peace Movement That Has An Actual War, It's Different From One That Has Wars That Our Country Is Not Totally Involved In. During The War In Vietnam, And To A Lesser Degree The Wars In Central America Where Our Country Was Directly Involved, It Was Easier To Organize.

My Mother Went To Demonstrations. I Remember Her Going To A Big Demonstration For Earl Brower And She Came Home Crying And Said The Communists Were Very Mean And Booed Their People. I Remember Feeling Sad At Her Feeling Sad.