She told me on many ocassions that she was not a writer. She had no memories and she had nothing to write about. I remembered the poetic letters she wrote back in the sixties, when she lived in San Francisco and I was a newlywed on the farm in Georgia. I read her letters over and over, trying to imagine myself living in a fascinating city on the Pacific Ocean. She was young and she was brave, I thought, to head out on her own. While I taught children in the same town where I had lived all my life, she experienced life in a way I never would.
We meet for lunch about once a month and always have some good laughs.
Of course she is a writer, she is your sister after all. It is nice that you remain close.
ReplyDeleteGlenda, I'm so glad you and Gay had a nice time at Wildacres. It sounds like an incredible place and I hope Gay will post some of her writing here soon. I'll look forward to it.
ReplyDeleteSam
Hi Joan and Sam,
ReplyDeleteWe had to be close to spend 24 hours a day together for four days. The rain came down like Niagara Falls for days and the wind came up one day to about 30 miles per hour. So we were inside most of the time. Not like it was at the Gathering earlier in late August.
Still, it is a nice place to go.
I hope we get to read some of Gay's writing.
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