Hah. You thought I'd given up writing, huh?
My husband speaks to the dead. Yesterday, our old cat Blackie visited him in the bathroom and described a plane ride in our future. It will be a long trip, according to Blackie, and the plane will stop and hover, making sounds like a little boy being a helicopter. Nevertheless, we are not to worry. We will land some place warm where plants grow out of building cornices, swoop down and steal your hat or maybe your shoes. I was too busy trying to feed the ghost of my brother to hear the whole thing -- he was demanding eggs, and the rotten ham sandwich I had buried at the bottom of the garbage. My brother is so hungry, but he can’t quite get the food to his mouth. His hands are broken or absent, he was trying to tell me.
Also, a rather painfully honest interview here: kickingwind.