Letters from Rona / Community / Sort by date

I didn't admit to an attack of nerves the week before my school reunion. But there had to be a reason why I lay awake night after night, my brain on high alert. [more]

I hadn't planned on returning this August to the home town I couldn't wait to leave. It seemed I had more urgent things to do than schlep by plane and bus to Durham, New Hampshire, where a gaggle of far-flung alumni from my high school---many of them strangers to each other and just about all them strangers to me---were convening to honour Eleanor and Frank Milliken, two wise and generous-hearted teachers who gave the best part of their careers to our collective intellectual development. [more]

When I first ventured onto Twitter at the urging of more cyber-savvy friends, I thought I'd died and gone to that accursed nether region of hell that is politely known as high school. Then I found some good reasons to stick around. [more]

On my way to buy yogurt and cold cuts at Metro, I happened on a celebration of the human urge to connect---several hundred deaf people of all ages, ethnicities and style sensibilities, engaged in a gabfest so consumingly joyous, I couldn't quite suppress a stab of envy. They were investing not just flying fingers but all four limbs in the art of conversation. They punctuated anecdotes with a repertoire of expressions that captured every note on the emotional scale. Each one of these people seemed fully absorbed in the exchange at hand---no looking over a companion's shoulder to check out more promising social options. So I felt free to amble among them and stare in an invisible, contemplative way that felt more respectful than rude. [more]

It's my firm conviction that no one should call me "Sweetie" who has never shared my bed or at least a life-changing confidence, but I make an exception for Sarah, who owns one of the few stores around where it's still fun to shop. Sarah sells every kitchen gadget you can possibly imagine, plus hundreds of other mysterious gizmos you had no idea you needed---until she explains, with the enthusiasm of a six-year-old and the authority of Oprah, how a piece of cleverly engineered plastic saved her all kinds of time and trouble. [more]

I was not at all pleased to be dining at the Madison Bistro in desolate downtown Toledo after a long winter day's drive from Chattanooga. Hungry and peevish, we'd picked this combination bar/greasy spoon from a list offered up by our dashboard concierge, otherwise known as the nav system. Bistro, to me, says comfort food in the Julia Child tradition---none of which appeared on the menu. But there's a lot more to comfort than what's on the plate, as I was about to discover. [more]