October 8--Flemish, Emperor Vespasian Cured by Veronica's Veil. Gloria hated the tapestry that hung in her mother-in-law's living room. It was the most depressing thing she'd ever seen. It had gorgeous colors--gold, red, and navy blue--but it showed some sick old man reaching for a relic hoping for a cure. You could see by the looks on the faces of his attendants, and the room was full of them, that there wasn't much hope. Gloria's favorite attendant was the man holding the sick man's arm. He was looking straight out of the hanging as if to plead with the maker to weave faster, to get it over with. She knew that there was no way to avoid inheriting the thing even though they didn't have room for it. Douglas was an only child and he had no backbone where his mother was concerned. Maybe she could convince Douglas' mother, the insufferable old bat, to donate the monstrosity to a museum before she died and reap the accolades while she could still imagine herself as a patron of the arts.
And now it's time for me to make myself presentable and go to work so I can collect my hard-earned pay. Yippee! Hey, are any of you thinking of doing NaNoWriMo next month? I am and if you are we could trade encouraging emails. My yoga teacher and one of my old writing group and I are going to cobble together a support group, but I thought I'd send out a tentacle to youse writer-y types. Exit, stage left.