The Hardest Part of Marriage ...

... isn't even the dynamics of your own relationship, but the way your extended family's problems can dredge up your own unresolved issues. Wasn't it Faulkner who said that you carry the symbol of your frustration into eternity? Which I always took to mean: your ghosts find you.

You see, it's no accident I'm a writer. What else could you do with all this shit except make art out of it? (Or, as Elizabeth Bowen so eloquently put: art is the only thing that goes on mattering once it has stopped hurting.)

We're planning on making our trek to California for Thanksgiving none-the-less. We're spending two days along the coast south of SF: San Simeon, Carmel, Monterrey. Then on Thanksgiving day we're eating at the Cliff House at sunset with our friend M. (the friend who's really family); my parents, who are flying in from Virginia; and my sister, who's doing phenomenally well at her first semester at UC Davis.

But the best part? Our business is really taking off. R said last week: "We're gonna make it after all." With not the slightest bit of irony in his voice.