A Poem When I Was Very Young
My childhood home was filled with poetry. Not so much in books but in memory, recitation, rendition. The poems we brought home came copied down from books that other people owned.
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My childhood home was filled with poetry. Not so much in books but in memory, recitation, rendition. The poems we brought home came copied down from books that other people owned.
Read MoreThanks to Libby Mosier for alerting me to this effort by Beth Kephart (all the lovely people live in Philadelphia!)
Read MoreAddendum: I had sent this on to the Huffington Post early on the 14th but it did not appear until today. So if you want to read the same piece over there, it is at this link. I began to write this as a comment to a post by a dear friend . . .
Read MoreIt is rare for me to talk about my personal life as it pertains to my immediate family and I know that grates on some people. There’s a reason for that, explained perhaps most clearly in this article I wrote for The Debutante’s Ball upon the publication of my first novel. Every . . .
Read MoreI’m writing this because I really need to vent and also channel the frustration of numerous friends who happen to be parents. Call it a public service announcement of sorts. (Addendum: Just as I finished this note I was informed by a new friend that there was a kindler/gentler version on the . . .
Read MoreI started to clean out my closet yesterday, a fun job that I like to do just to try on everything I have and separate things into various categories. It is therepeutic. I found some interesting things as I went through, things that reminded me of funny stuff from the past. I’m . . .
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