"Cast before a silver sheet,
Tracing lines that never meet."
Those are the first two lines to a poem I wrote a long, long while ago, even way, way before Malcolm was diagnosed, and they made little sense to me at the time.
They do now.
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YBD's Notes 1: Though I have plenty more ridiculous things to say and do, I'm done with this chapter and it's time to move on and bring the first book, The Rock, to its conclusion.
YBD's Notes 2: Sailing is an inexact metaphor for life. Ashore, the time to jibe or tack doesn't always translate but I've come about now.
YBD's Notes 3: Next chapter I'll talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly of sponsorship and that'll set the stage for the final chapter.
YBD's Notes 2: Sailing is an inexact metaphor for life. Ashore, the time to jibe or tack doesn't always translate but I've come about now.
YBD's Notes 3: Next chapter I'll talk about the good, the bad, and the ugly of sponsorship and that'll set the stage for the final chapter.
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