I live and write on Lingít Aaní, and gratefully acknowledge the past, present and future caretakers of this beautiful place, the Jilkaat Kwaan and Jilkoot Kwaan.

My bet was the baby would arrive on Labor Day, but so far no signs in the night have indicated that. This baby just may be a full-term one after all. Wouldn’t that be something? (Today she’s 38 weeks pregnant, that’s when Lani was born.) It is also more than a little ironic that it is Labor Day and my new book is just about done. I’ve been holed up at my desk all weekend (and all of the available hours this summer that weren’t  filled up by weddings and babies and gardens and company and dog walking and meals and  bike riding– 3,000 miles worth all within 40 miles of home. ) Yesterday afternoon I typed “The End”  (I love doing that) and then made the title page and table of contents and double checked that the chapters and their page numbers all matched, then I took Pearl for a hike in the rain, bought  a bottle of wine and had a nice dinner with Chip of deer steaks, beet greens, greenhouse tomatoes and a whole pile of roasted vegetables from Columbine Farm, watched a PBS mystery and read Life after Life, Jill McCorkle’s new novel which isn’t what you think. It’s set in an old folks home. Today  I’ll read my manuscript  out loud one more time to Pearl and fix anything that makes me cringe and then send it off. I’m sure it will have another partial round of rewrites and edits– but the bulk is done, I think. I’ll get a few weeks off just in time for the fall rain and moose season and the beginning of the routines of my life. Morning Muscles starts again at 6 tomorrow morning, yoga is at 5:15 Tuesday evening, both at the Chilkat Center. Choir begins again Thursday at 6 at the museum. Join us? How funny to have labored all summer only to have a whole winter ahead now without a set plan? (The new baby and her sister and cousins will no doubt help me with that.) I’ll go back to the obituaries, of course, but hope that isn’t too busy, you know? (Again, I did not write Mickey’s, as comment worthy as it is) I’ll pick up some hours of childcare for Sarah with her girls.  I have a complete novel to rewrite and send out into the world, and I still have to tell you about the clairvoyant! – Not psychic, she corrected me, explaining that she does not tell fortunes, she sees spirits. That’s a book, too. She said my guardian angels are a tall, reserved old man with an accent, a former school teacher whom I did not know how happy I made when I was a child,  a ten year-old black boy with a scar on his face, and two dogs. What a crew to think about.  But I can’t right now, as it is time for that “sort of final-final maybe? -I hope- read through,”  now. Wouldn’t it be something if as soon I send the manuscript off,  Stoli calls from Juneau and I go off too? Wouldn’t that just be a Labor Day to remember?