Today, May 30th is my seventh Step-a-versary, and this week my phone reported that I had crossed the magic number of walking half of the world’s circumference.  Did I have brains enough to take a screenshot of that when it showed up?  No, I did not.  You’re just going to have to take my word for it.

Actually, I may have started walking somewhat earlier than that using a now long-deceased Fitbit, but May 30, 2017 is the  first day my phone’s pedometer app chimed in, and since the phone is what keeps a running total, the Fitbit count bit the dust shortly thereafter.

Walking is what I do for me.  I’m very fortunate to have a life and a job that makes it possible for me to carve out time to walk every day.  Mary and Jojo aren’t particularly thrilled about it, but as long as they’re fed on a regular basis, they tolerate that peculiarity.

This week my email includes notes from two women whose life histories in many ways mirror my own.  Why is it that so many smart young women, myself included, manage to make such bad choices in spouses the first time around?  That’s why I maintain that that little book of poetry is probably my most impactful.  There are far too many folks out there who are living their own versions of After the Fire.

The book tells the story of my alcohol-doomed first marriage.  My entire mystery writing career didn’t begin until after I filed for and obtained a divorce in 1980.  And the truth is, I wouldn’t have had this astonishing second crack at life without having endured the first one.

Believe me, this second time around, steps included, is way better than the first one.

So thank you for that.