OMG she's burbling again

You are not going to believe this - and you may be suspicious of my hyperbole - but here goes: I have just had the best week of my life. Yes, I've been sick the whole time - just sick enough that I didn't have my usual restless energy, but not so sick that I couldn't sit still and work and read.

And so I did, and a most productive and spiritually satisfying week ensued. Almost no social life, no friends calling, no interesting shops to go to, hardly moving my aching body at all - absolutely nothing to do except walk on the windy beach, sit by the pool, and go on an interior journey. And watch "Downton" and Jon Stewart and as much of Rachel Maddow as I can stand, and read the "New York Times," too. And then go back to work.

I'm leaving with a solid draft to take next week to my editor Barbara and to send to my other editor, Patsy. Their job is to slash it to bits, and then I'll start again. But this blessed week, I made a lot of progress.

Two blissful moments today - it was windy, so the usual annoyingly chatty crowd had deserted the pool area, and I had it all to myself, silence under the palm trees as pelicans soared low over the bay. I had brought the latest "New Yorker" and read the Michel Chabon story in it, "Citizen Conn." The last paragraph is so powerful, I felt like I'd been hit over the head, felt dizzy and had to recouperate. It's a superb story; find the magazine on-line and read it, I urge you.

Late afternoon, walking on the endless beach, almost empty - a kid with the biggest sandcastle I've ever seen, which I admired, and a fisherman standing waiting, with, nearby, a great blue heron, standing waiting. I am in love with herons. Talk about dignity and patience. Herons have a lot to teach a speedo like me.

Earlier, I rode the borrowed bike a few miles down the highway to Publix, the supermarket, needing only some bread, a half bottle of wine, and the "New York Times" - which perhaps qualifies as "thou," in this instance. They don't sell half bottles, they sell tetrapak containers holding 3 glasses and costing $5, which is what I'm drinking now. How neat is that? Do we have that at home? No! We have to wait years for such advanced technology.

And the joys, JOYS, of email - today, a student writing that a class piece of his has been accepted by the "Globe;" yesterday, a student writing that she'd got in touch with a family member thanks to the course, and they were both grateful; the day before, from an old friend to say that his cousin Tony Kusher, the fabulous playwright who's interested in the Yiddish theatre, is a fan of my book and meant to write me a letter to say so. And best of all, this morning, a phonecall from my mother to say that a heart operation she'd been rejected for is probably going to go ahead after all. My cup runneth over, with cheap Australian shiraz from a tetrapak.

So friends, tomorrow, arriving very late from sun and wind back to winter and Rob Ford; from a view over the bay to no light in my basement abode. It'll be a bit rough, perhaps. But I just got a Facebook message from my daughter, inviting me to her place on Saturday for dinner and a movie. Can't wait to play pat the tummy. Home.

P.S. A few hours later: Petrifying, to publically announce a solid draft. I'm rereading now, and it's cutesy and shallow, I'm sure I'll have to start all over again. Which means - time to get it out to some wise eyes. Or I might throw it into the Gulf of Mexico.