Letters from Rona / What I'm reading / Sort by date

You couldn't go through school in New Hampshire, my home state, without being steeped in Robert Frost. Our teachers cast him as a sage in overalls, a fantasy grandfather opening his pasture and his barn to kids like us. I always sensed there was a whole lot more to the elusive and sardonic Frost, which is why I read him to this day. If "Birches" is read at my funeral and the afterlife turns out to exist, you can bet that I'll be looking down yelling, "Hey, I just had another insight on this poem!" [more]

Back when Elizabeth Taylor was the world's most scandalous woman, I followed her adventures on the pretext of shopping with my mother. Every supermarket sold Photoplay, and every issue exuded the forbidden scent of lust as only home-wrecking, violet-eyed Liz could inspire it. While my mother filled her cart with egg noodles and cream of mushroom soup, I hung out at the newsstand, drinking in the gossip. [more]

It's been years since I discovered the black, ruthless wit of quadriplegic cartoonist John Callahan. I admired him for savaging the myth of disability as both pitiful and ennobling. His death had me combing the Internet for stories of his life and forgotten snippets of his gleefully outrageous art. That's when I discovered just how far this man would go to reveal his broken places in print. As a woman, I shuddered. But I'm still a fan. Here's why. [more]

The last time anyone read to me, I might have been leaning on my elbows at a scratched wooden desk, waiting for Mrs. Sawyer to begin another chapter of Beezus and Ramona. A hush descended on 30-odd fractious kids like a snowfall worthy of a Christmas card. At story time Kevin Donahue forgot to call me "Doughnut." I forgot about my struggle with long division. The whole class forgot about who'd been invited to the birthday party of the hour and who'd been left off the list. One question united us all: what sort of mischief would those Quimby sisters make next? [more]

Once upon a time, many haircuts and compacts ago, I wanted nothing more than beauty. These days what I'm after is wisdom. I don't know of any blow dry for the mind, any light-reflecting product to cover blemishes of the soul. But illuminating thoughts are out there for the taking---as you'll see from these gems I found while reading. While I can't claim they've made me any wiser, they've affirmed my faith in the existence of wisdom. And that's a pretty good start. [more]

So there you are, a grownup with at least a couple of the following: job, mortgage, vet bills, kid. You have friends who laugh at your jokes, colleagues who ask your advice and may even think of you as their mentor. You also have a family. And when you're with them, you're not your usual assured adult self. You revert to the child you used to be as if pulled by invisible hands. At least you're not playing this game by yourself---your siblings know all the moves and share your wild delusion that someone can win this contest. [more]

Back when lunching with writers was part of my job, I booked a date with a humorist beloved across the land for her ability to crack people up. I was expecting to feast on wit. As it happened, I've met cabbies with more one-liners and accountants with less gravitas. [more]

The difference between Raymond Carver and your typical bad-boy writer, boozing and bedding his way to premature decrepitude, is that Carver, pushing 40, got scared enough to dry out---a decision that rekindled his sputtering creative fire and made him a grateful man who viewed each day as a gift. His last poems credit a late-blooming love affair with a fellow writer, Tess Gallagher, as the emotional centre of this extraordinary transformation. Yet Carol Sklenicka's new biography clearly shows that if not for the selfless devotion of his first wife Maryann, Carver would have drowned the gifts that made his name. [more]

I've been known to save the damnedest things. Extra buttons from shirts that I tossed long ago, pleated pants that never do come back in style, single socks that are well and truly mateless. I've even got a stash of frayed twist ties. But when it comes to wise words, I make no apology. Here, a few recent gleanings I just had to share: [more]

In the December issue of Vogue, a magazine I rarely buy but this month couldn't resist, Hillary Clinton is profiled by Jonathan Van Meter, who closes his eye-opening interview with this question: why is she such an inspiration to women when Margaret Thatcher, who reached greater heights, was rarely described in those terms? [more]

I have this odd little habit that amuses my husband. To be honest, I'm told I have many odd habits. They involve bits of crumpled Kleenex, loose bottle caps, single socks emerging from the laundry...oh, enough of that stuff! Let's talk about a happier subject, books and pens. The two go together, as far as I'm concerned. [more]

Although I'm still one of the die-hards for whom morning and the daily paper go together like coffee and toast, I can't seem to get out of my bathrobe without an online tour of newspapers hither and yon, with detours to a blog or two. I keep meaning to share the wealth, only to get distracted (must have been following a link). Here's an eclectic roundup of online gleanings that inspire me, challenge me, amaze me, move me or crack me up. [more]