One of the regular intervals of meditation in my life, believe it or not, is in my car.
For years, there was no man in the house when my husband was off on law cases in the Far East. Without writing, I would have been bored and unfaithful, maybe both, and the children would have been hideously over-protected.
This happens to me all the time: I think I'm working on one thing, but this other thing, whether I want it to or not, keeps coming through.
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