Almost every afternoon I take a walk with Henry. Afterwards I try to write. Sometimes I write a lot and it's beautiful. Sometimes I can't write at all, and I feel hopeless. Sometimes I feel like a ghost. The children come home and I become distracted by their talk and messes--and that is good. One thing I've found myself doing is drawing faces of women. Not women I know, just random lines until something appears. Their expressions surprise me--I never know what kind of characteristics they'll extend until the last line. When I see each completed piece it's like I know them and they know me. But somehow we're all strangers.