1:23 p.m.

Since Easter, I have been taking elk-velvet capsules. A friend, who raises elk with her spouse, and sells the velvet from their antlers, was a great saleswoman. Customers have told her it reduces the frequency and intensity of their migraines.

My friend used to have terribly painful periods. Since taking elk velvet, she is free of the cramps that made her miss work every month.

I bought $100 worth, to give it a fair try. I’d rather take herbs than an animal product, but what the hell.

A couple days later, my sister told me she and her husband (they have a couple hundred elk on their ranch) also sell elk-velvet capsules, but my friend is a better marketer. No kidding!

I haven’t noticed any difference. Yet.

The herbs Don’s been taking for his acne have cleared it up miraculously. I won’t be replacing the special soaps, astringents, and ointments I bought him, once they run out. Those things helped for about a month, then his skin went back to normal. So why not have him putting something healthy into his body rather than something chemical on it?

The boy will be 15 years old in two weeks. FIFTEEN! I look at him and think wow, outside of my parents and siblings, that is the longest close relationship I have ever had with someone.

It’s time to buy him a razor.

In one hour I must leave for the women’s potluck. I made a marinated carrot salad to take, and don’t feel one bit like going. Nope. Much rather stay home with my kidlets. But I suppose the socializing will do me good.

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Dreamed last night that I was being courted by a wealthy older man, who looked like Izzy Asper, the Winnipeg millionaire. When I woke up in his mansion in the morning, he’d already left to attend a meeting with some business associates, and I wandered around the house. The interior was large and filled with beautiful collectibles, but quite run down and shabby.

I needed a housecoat, so took a short, silky one off a rack of clothes. A maid said “No, no, that came from some callgirl-type at a hotel. You don’t want to wear that.”

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I’ve often thought that if I was a published novelist, I would avoid reading any and all reviews, whether positive or negative. I am much too sensitive and thin-skinned to cope with them without changing the way I express myself, and they would be sure to influence my future writing.

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The photo above is Barney in a costume he decided to wear one night, rather than covering up in blankets to sleep in.