I ran this morning, for the first time in months, though 'hauled' is more apt. My muscles remember what to do but they are burdened by a layer of fat I seem to have donned since turning 60. I'm not sure if I will ever give up my dream of being thin again, but I am sure that if I do, my body will begin to approximate my mother's. And that won't be good for any aspect of my health, including the mental part. How strange: after a stress-free weekend with my mother all to myself--the first time since 2002 when we traveled to London together--I am reading Alison Bechdel's graphic memoir called Are You My Mother? Stranger still, there is a reference in her book to Anne Bradstreet, America's first female poet, and I've just finished Caleb's Crossing by Geraldine Moore where Anne Bradstreet turns up again. Does this mean I should find Anne Bradstreet's work, or that by age 64, everything relates to everything else?