Tens years of writing, a year editing and rewriting, and six months going back and forth perfecting the layout–but it’s finally finished. Is It Sisters made its debut on Amazon this week. April 1st is the publication date. Very Ironic, that. And maybe a sign from Alice; when I was being silly, or misconstrued something, she’d say (sometimes testily), “No, fool, it’s blah, blah, blah…” It always made me chuckle, which often wasn’t the response she was going for, but it would crack me up. Oh, and how I’m a sucker for a fool, so it’s very fitting.
Back cover:
When True Love comes crashing like a red-hot meteor into her well-ordered, married life, Nancy Lehigh certainly isn’t looking for it. She’s never believed in True Love. Never anticipated it would find her, let alone that her True Love could be … a woman!
Alice Quincy … droll and witty, wise and serene. Unforgettable.
You’re invited on this warm-hearted journey spanning two decades—the ’70s and ’80s. An adventure of self discovery and disclosure, set in big city and rural environs among friends and family. Through hard times and happiness, sorrows and laughter, living and dying. You know, all the Big Stuff! and the tiny intimate moments in between—in this memoir of two women, eternally in love.
We drive the scenic route much of the way, sticking to the road that parallels the Delaware River. The leaves haven’t turned yet. It’s October 19th, and I’m panicked, despairing that we have traveled so far, all the way back East for Alice’s one trip of a lifetime, and here we are—too damned early for the changing of the colors. I’ll just have to open a vein if she misses it.
Nevertheless, the rolling eastern Pennsylvania countryside stuns with its wet, green, and shiny beauty. A look decidedly darker than the golden appearance of California, punctuating the fact that the East Coast lies farther from the sun as we orbit. The landscape’s muted wash has much to do with this different quality of light as well as the density of the wooded country. Maybe the darker tones of the land owe some of its character to the underlying slate and granite, as if the bedrock informs coloration to the soil and on into the foliage and tree trunks. The outcroppings of rock are many, black and glittery, streaked of orange iron oxide, overall affording an impression of subdued gray, umber, and emerald green.
My homemade pear butter is Mattie’s favorite. I use pears picked from her friend’s tree when they are ripe. And you should know those pears don’t have the shelf life of store-bought, which go from days of being brick hard directly to inedible mush within a minute and a half. Tree-ripened pears are juicy enough to run down your arm to your elbow when you bite into them, and are as sweet as the lightest honey. You have to eat them over the sink. Everybody should have a pear tree in her life.
Image by Linda from Boynton Beach, Florida (http://www.flickr.com/photos/26439739@N05)
Silhouetted against the red of the cliff, a hawk swoops down and flies parallel to the riverbed, no doubt searching for steelhead (an ocean-going rainbow trout that returns to spawn), or one of the half-pounders that make these waters their home. Whenever Alice and I come here, we never fail to see at least one of the indigenous Cooper’s or Red-tailed hawks making a grand show like this.
is it sisters 