Just a reminder.

Sometimes where you need to be is right where you are. And it isn't at the computer.

Every So Often, Wow.

Okay, first of all: the cover is genius. Perfect for public reading. This cover makes eBooks weep. Second of all, the plot is so subtle, yet so tense. And the writing. Oh. Oh. Oh. So simple, and yet so not. The last chapter absolutely stunned me with its tensile power. Myla Goldberg, the only thing that would make me more jealous is if you are Natalie Goldberg's daughter.

The lost art.

At the urging of a friend I started another blog verysincerely.com This one is devoted to letters, which I'll add periodically. Happy to write one on any topic anyone needs, just ask.

Six word novels.

How long does it take to write a six-word novel? (If you're Hemingway, probably a minute; me, longer.) My attempts, presented in chronological order. I think I improved.





Left me. Took wheelchair. Still crawling.
Bet the house, lost the showgirl.
Around his neck: Purple heart, noose.
Abandoned. Adopted. Abused. Pregnant. Scared. Repeat.

Weigh in. Share yours. Have fun.

Making Breakfast.

It begins on the day she is born: A mother making breakfast for a child.
There will be rituals: clock, bottle, cloth.
There will be equipment: bowl, pitcher, curved silver spoon.
Then, just as astonishingly as it began, there is an end.
When do you stop making your child breakfast?

My girls have assembled their own breakfasts for a very long time. This is, after all, a skill. No one wants to send their child to college unable to fry an egg.

You wake up one day, and this simple act of daily mothering is gone.
The steel cut oatmeal, the frittatas, the whatevas – these become weekend treats.

Which is all fine . . . until I realized my oldest daughter, a senior, would soon be eating breakfast somewhere other than home.

My friend Ellen--who has a girl the same age--and I decided to spend this last school year cooking breakfast for our daughters.

While the rest of the house sleeps, we reconnect with the simple pleasure of whisking eggs and swirling blueberries into muffins. There are new favorites now: yogurt layered with strawberries, honey and granola. Asparagus and cheddar cheese omelettes. Hot rice cereal with cinnamon.

Will she remember I did this for her? I’m not sure. But I will remember.

I will remember watching her lift the spoon to her mouth.
Just as I remember all the other times, in the low pink light of sunrise, standing by her high chair with the kitchen clock ticking in the background, I lifted the small spoon for her.

You Know You're A Reader When . . .

You know you’re a reader when:

1) You don’t mind waiting at the doctor’s office.
2) At your birthday party, you really do open the cards first
3) When home shopping, the word “built ins” causes your heart to flutter
4) Power outages just don’t bother you as much as other people
5) You judge everyone you date by their shelves, not their shoes
6) You remember the copy on your childhood cereal box
7) Your library card wears out before your debit card
8) You can remember the first book you read but not the first movie you saw
9) When looking at colleges, you only wanted to see the library
10) There has always been a flashlight in your bedroom

I know you're gonna add to the list, so pile on!

On Bulletin Boards.

When I walk in someone's home, I always peek at their bulletin board. There is usually something random and interesting there --a cute invite, a dried flower, a picture of their pet. This, I suspect, is why people are having such fun with Pinterest. It's like looking through someone's top drawer, chasing away the errant jacks and thumbtacks, and seeing what's worth keeping.

My parents kept a rotating photo album on a bulletin board in their hallway, filled with an ever-changing display of who and what they loved. And it was so much easier than framing. Pin away, people.