For those (about six) who've asked about putting homecomings in print, I've done so; find the link in the sidebar at right or click on the image of the book. It may be of use to people.
Having gone back through it, I have to offer a few caveats: I don't remember as much anguish or anger as I often expressed at the time, as I think I've had one of the least stressful transitions on record, for which I thank Beloved, my parents and children, friends, neighbors, co-workers and worship community; I'm impressed with how little I knew about how to do this and how well it went in spite of me; and Your Mileage May Vary. If any reader feels the need to take a similar road, take nothing therein as any kind of manual, but rather treat it as light fiction at best.
Stylistically, I think the thing has problems: it's dreadfully serious and dirge-like in the beginning (see photo above) and then annoyingly chatty thereafter; attribute this to hormones if you like.
Homecomings drifts from present tense to past and back again, and from topic to topic without warning. The chapter breaks make little sense. There's not much characterization and it's terribly self-centered stuff. But, then, if it lacked all these issues, it wouldn't be a diary of a personal journey, now, would it, dears?
I have been to North Pacific Yearly Meeting of Friends, held at Reed College in Portland in the last week, and had a really wonderful time there, and a bit of what Friends call "deepening." Also a bit of stroking: lovely things were said to me by people who have been rediscovering me, and I felt really pleased to be me and not someone else, a feeling I'd been a stranger to for so many decades. I also managed to stick to the salad bar!
Back at work and with Beloved, who stayed with her poultry and garden this year. We toured the garden, gathering some patty-pan squash for me to take in to work, and picked the first blackberries for her breakfast later. Some time was spent sitting, watching the growing things, which is almost a novelty now, and then I headed out to the Scriptorium to work on a project for RE. I did this for a few hours until darkness, aided by heavy clouds, had cloaked the valley, then settled down in the bunk bed to read, and when I finished my chapter and closed the book (These Are Real People by Rosita Forbes), a mouse on the shelf behind me was startled into leaping right across me, like a four-footed ski-jumper, into the middle of the floor, to run under the bed. Cute!
Didn't know they could jump that far.
Put the light out, turned over, and slept through the soft night rain.
In the morning I discovered the wet grass, and tiptoed to the house between the spangled spiders' trampolines, noting that Beloved had brought in her bed from the orch-yard, and found her in the big bed. There was just enough time to curl up with her a bit before coffee.