Four years ago I was getting up my nerve to sign on to BCTS. I found this to be such a warm and friendly place. Oh, there were a few soreheads and curmudgeons around; however, they were few and far between. A little more than three years ago, I decided to take the plunge and post the story I had spent several years writing. It was badly edited and proofed (by me); however, it was well received. Thankfully, Holly Hart took me under her wing. I posted two more stories before prostate cancer and some severely botched surgery knocked me on my rear for several months.

Since signing on, it has been seven novels and a continuing series of stories about some young withches, their friends and families, a failed curmudgeon of a Wizard and his companion, Wolf. By my estimate, I am approaching 1,000,000 words. Don't worry Angharad, I'll never catch you.

Anyway, I want to thank my loyal readers for their encouragement. I'll continue to write as long as I can come up with new ideas. They do seem to be getting fewer and further apart these days.

My mother died last week of respiratory failure and congestive heart failure. She saw all her children, many of her grandchildren and great grand children during the last week. She knew them all. She didn't have Alzheimers, but dementia robbed her of any short term memory over the last 25-30 years. It was probably alcohol induced.

My sister gave her a letter to read. She had found it in a box of old letters. It had been written in 1986. She read it out loud to us six times before she had my wife read it. That was last Monday. We left for Little Rock on Tuesday, and she was still doing pretty well, but she started sinking on Wednesday. Her respiration was shallow, and her heart rate was 125. By then, there was a hospice nurse with her constantly to insure she was comfortable. She refused food and water Thursday morning, and was gone by 7:15 that evening. She said she was ready to go. The angels had come to her in her dreams. She was 93. She left four children, nine grandchildren, and seven great grand children. There won't be a funeral. We'll probably have a quiet memorial service in a month or so. I think we were all relieved that it was over peacefully. Life goes on.

Portia